


The Reality of Balance

by Fierygirl0 (orphan_account)



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Light BDSM, M/M, Mindfuck, Role Reversal, Slavery, Torture, universe jumping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-29 19:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 64,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Fierygirl0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the edge of death, waiting on his knees, Ichigo is yanked into a universe not his own just as Aizen raises Kyouka Suigetsu to kill him. The being that has pulled him out of his world - and pulled Aizen in for the ride as well - is insistent. They must pay attention, they must learn, and they must understand.</p><p>Done for NaNoWriMo '12!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Is this how it ends?

Ichigo swallows and stares down at the concrete beneath his knees, shivering at the feel of cold metal pressing against the back of his neck. Blood trickles down the side of his throat and into what little remains of his bankai outfit. It joins the larger patches of soaked fabric and the splashes of blood on the ground. He's already injured – right arm broken and a sizeable gash along his ribs – with countless minor cuts and scrapes. He has no idea where Zangetsu is. He dropped it when Aizen had casually wrenched his arm behind his back and snapped it, and they'd been high in the air at the time so it could be anywhere in the mostly destroyed fake-Karakura.

Breaking out of that hold had been amazingly painful, but at least he'd only gotten a thin slice across his side instead of being skewered like Aizen had intended. Of course, without Zangetsu all he could – can –do is run, and Aizen made damn sure he never had the time to look for it.

The others – the vizard and shinigami – had tried to help, but with the Espada, Ichimaru, and Tousen, they'd been hard pressed just to survive their own fights. Plus he's pretty sure Aizen had been keeping up some kind of illusion, interfering just enough to keep his subordinates alive. There wasn't really any other explanation for the lunges and slashes at empty air or Tousen's continued victory. He's certainly strong, especially since he'd turned into that _thing_ , but there are enough people fighting him that he really should be dead by now. He definitely shouldn't have been able to take down Komamura, Hisagi, and Iba without breaking a sweat.

Ichigo had been on his own. Obviously that had gone _incredibly_ well, what with him being on his knees in front of _Aizen;_ a _sword_ at his throat and no fucking chance of moving fast enough to dodge the inevitable killing strike.

 _No_. Ichigo can't die here, he can't afford to. If he dies here then Karakura – just one reality away and that's _too damn close_ – gets razed to the ground and everyone he knows dies. Aizen becomes what amounts to a god and then who knows what he'll do. Given the behavior trend, it won't be good. This all hinges on him surviving, He's the only one who isn't under Aizen's illusions, who has a chance in hell of beating the traitor. If he goes down, Aizen wins, and there's no way he can allow that.

His hollow stirs in the back of his mind, snarling, _'Let's go, King_.'

The hollow's tired, exhausted even, but still willing to fight. The hollow is _always_ willing to fight. Of course in cases like this the sentiment is a little silly since any ability he's had to fight is long since gone.

Ichigo looks up at Aizen, careful not to lift his head enough to press against the steel resting on his neck. Aizen's brown eyes are narrowed and contemplative, watching him steadily. He swallows again under the look, struggling to keep Aizen's gaze, and slowly moves his left hand to press against the gash across his right ribs, attempting – _in vain and_ _ **damnit**_ _he knows that_ – to stem the flow of blood. It drips between his fingers as Aizen looks down at him and the sounds of battle ring in both their ears. Metal clashes, someone cries out in pain, and he flinches, wincing as Aizen's sword – _Kyouka Suigetsu, isn't it?_ – bites a little further into his flesh. No one's yelled at him, has even seemed to notice he's about to fucking die, so he can only assume that they're hidden in another of Aizen's illusions.

Just fantastic. No sword, barely any power left, and no one who knows he needs help.

Aizen's eyes harden minutely, the steel draws back for a blow, and Ichigo moves. He throws himself backwards, desperately, and instead of cutting his throat Kyouka Suigetsu only draws a thin line of blood across the front of his neck. He hits the ground on his back and bites back a cry of pain at the jostling of his arm and the rubble digging into his spine. Aizen doesn't miss a beat, stepping forward and returning Kyouka Suigetsu to its place against his throat. He stiffens, not moving as Aizen places a foot on his chest, holding him in place.

"This will be less painful if you stop trying to get away, Kurosaki. No one can see us and you're not fast or powerful enough to fight me or even escape me. Give in, Kurosaki."

He shivers, managing a tiny glare. "You think I'm just going to fucking lie here and let you kill me?!"

Aizen's lips curl in a smirk, amusement bursting to life in his eyes, "I don't think you have much of a choice, honestly."

He can't move. Even if Aizen wasn't holding him down and there wasn't steel at his throat, he wouldn't be able to move. Fear is heavy in his chest, the instinctual distress triggered by confronting an opponent _much_ stronger than him. The amount of times Ichigo's felt this fear is ridiculous, but it never gets easier to handle. It's a combination of pain, blood loss, exhaustion, and just plain old fucking terror. It makes it a struggle to even breathe, each intake of air gasped in and seeming to catch on the sword pressed against his throat.

Aizen's sword lifts high for an appropriate killing blow and he knows he should move, should struggle, but he can't. He's staring at that steel and Aizen's eyes and smirk, and god he's going to die and he can't even fucking move! A brief hesitation, the sword glinting above Aizen's head, and finally he forces himself to move, to jerk and try to escape but it's too late and he really _is_ just going to lie there and let Aizen kill him because he'll never make it out in time and-

There's a burst of light between them, whiting out his vision, and a burning pain spreads outwards from the foot on his chest with alarming speed. He tries to cry out, scream, but he's frozen and can't as much as twitch. Nausea swells – _what has Aizen_ _ **done**_ _to him?!_ – and he's hit with extreme vertigo, spinning through the air and unable to feel the concrete at his back or the foot on his chest.

Is this what dying feels like; this descent – or maybe ascent? – into empty space and this pain? Isn't the agony supposed to go away? Isn't he supposed to feel all light and insubstantial and certainly _not_ like he's about to throw up? His vision fades, white to grey and then grey to black.

And then, quite suddenly, he is somewhere else and _someone_ else.

* * *

"Kurosaki-sou-taichou?"

His eyes flick open and he focuses in on his lieutenant, Hisagi Shuuhei, letting his eyes remain narrowed. Black spots remain in his vision from the abrupt flare of white – and he files that away in a corner of his mind to figure out later – but he ignores them in favor of straightening up, looking across the table at the older man.

"Yes, Shuuhei?"

Concern is evident in the black-haired man's gaze, but one hand is on his sword. Ichigo makes a note to praise Shuuhei for that later; you can never be too careful these days. The chances of Aizen – or one of his Arrancar - finding a way into Seireitei without them knowing about it is slim, Urahara had seen to that before his death, but still possible. With Aizen, things are always possible.

"Are you alright, Kurosaki-sou-taichou?" Shuuhei's tone is cautious and his dark grey eyes are just barely narrowed.

Ichigo hates that Aizen's driven them to this. Constantly wary of threats from outside, even from each other, unable to completely trust even their friends and partners. He hates that even Shuuhei – who he's known for almost thirteen years and who's been his lieutenant for seven of those – has reason to consider he might be an enemy. There have been – _too many_ – assassinations at an Arrancar's hand, the threat concealed under an illusion that almost no one can see through.

He can, and Uryuu is one of the few others, but most of Seireitei has been exposed to Aizen's shikai at some point or another. That's not even mentioning the horrific powers of his bankai. Ichigo hadn't really known pain till the day Aizen first used that on him, and he still vaguely wishes that he'd never grown to be _that_ much of a threat to the traitor. He'd been damn lucky that Aizen had already been tired and both Shunsui and Ukitake had been there to force Aizen away from him.

"Fine, Shuuhei, just a little dizzy. No illusions here, promise."

The fingers of his left hand dance a subtle pattern on the fabric of his hakama, where his hand is hanging, and Shuuhei visibly relaxes, hand falling from his sword. The movements and phrase, only ever together, is his code. Each captain and vice-captain has one, sometimes several different ones to use with different people. They're changed bi-weekly with a few days of warning, and each person is only given whatever codes will be used with them and what they'll use with others. Ichigo is the only person who knows exactly what each person's code is, and if they have more than one. If it isn't delivered correctly then the other person has standing orders to discreetly keep their distance and fetch him to confirm that it's an illusion and not just a mistake brought on by exhaustion or something similar.

It's the only system they've found that works almost all the time, and the few assassins that still get by are much better than the death rate they'd had before.

"Should I fetch Unohana-taichou, Kurosaki-sou-taichou?"

"No, I really am fine," Shuuhei pins him with a look, unyielding, and he sighs "but I'll go by the fourth later to make sure. Satisfied?"

Shuuhei nods and Ichigo can't help the tiny smile that curls his mouth. That. That's why he'd picked Shuuhei as his lieutenant. The older man won't let him get away with _anything_ , regardless of his power or status or how much he argues. That stubbornness has probably saved his life more times than he knows, and he _knows_ it's saved his life at least twice.

"Would you like me to continue with the division statuses, Kurosaki-sou-taichou?"

"Go ahead." Ichigo steps around the table as Shuuhei returns to the report he'd been giving, moving to stand at the slightly taller man's side and see the papers strewn over the table from his angle.

"The third is rather low on shinigami, I'd recommend filing some of the latest graduates into that division to keep it from falling behind in numbers." Understandably, most of Soul Society hasn't gotten over their dislike for the third, fifth and ninth divisions.

"Done. Next?"

Shuuhei reaches down, picks up one of the four pens –the first thing Ichigo had introduced upon finding out that the shinigami were still using _brushes_ for paperwork – scattered across the table, and makes a note on one of the papers.

"The fourth is running smoothly, Unohana-taichou doesn't need any help there, but I'm thinking we should probably just disband the fifth."

Ichigo can't hold back the sigh as he raises his left hand to rake through his hair, replying with just a moment of hesitation, "It's going to be a pain in the ass, but you're right. Plan it, I'll sign off on whatever you need me to and help how I can."

The fifth is all but gone anyway. While Shinji had – before Aizen killed him – attempted to rebuild it, he didn't get far. The shinigami that had been there before were disillusioned, especially with Hinamori at their head, and the dislike of the divisions surrounding them only made it worse. Not even Shinji's manic cheerfulness managed to bring them out of their slump. It certainly didn't – and doesn't – help that Aizen seems to have made it a personal goal to wipe out anyone in the fifth.

Yeah, it's really just better that they get rid of it. The couple hundred shinigami left can be easily sorted and absorbed into other divisions.

"Will do. The sixth needs a new vice-captain and Abarai has a few candidates in mind, do you want to look through them?"

He shakes his head, "No, I trust his judgment. Tell him to bring whoever he chooses to me so I can confirm his choice."

Another note is written down and Shuuhei makes a soft noise of assent. "The sixth is running fine apart from that. The seventh is running smoothly, Yumichika is adjusting well to his new captaincy. The eighth is still under reconstruction after Aizen's last attack, but that's coming along well and Nanao-san says it should be done within the week."

"That's good, the seventh will be glad to stop sharing space with them."

"Indeed. The ninth has academy duties starting in a week, so I put the papers across your desk last week. Everyone I chose has copies of the shifts and we're completely ready to take over as soon as the time comes."

Of course. Shuuhei would never allow his division – which the dark-haired man runs on _top_ of being his lieutenant _and_ handling the newspaper – to fall behind on anything. Not once has Shuuhei ever brought one of the ninth's problems to Ichigo. They're always handled long before they could require his attention. He secretly thinks that Unohana and Nanao have been giving Shuuhei lessons since they're the only other people he knows who can do so much and not show the slightest bit of stress. He is, however, the _only_ person filling two different posts, and the sleeveless – to match his original shinigami uniform which he still wears beneath it – white coat over the top announces that by bearing both the ninth's and the first's symbols.

"I don't think Matsumoto is up to the task of being the tenth's captain. We need to find a replacement for her and return her to the post of vice-captain. She's strong, but she doesn't have the focus needed to be a captain."

 _Great_.

"Is there anyone else we can even ask?"

Shuuhei gives him a look, and he immediately knows he won't like his lieutenant's answer.

"Tatsuki-fuku-taichou has bankai, she achieved it a few weeks ago. There's no one else."

He grits his teeth and bites back a curse. Sure, Tatsuki is powerful, but Aizen _knows_ his attachment to her and the idea of putting her just that one step farther up in the traitor's priorities is sickening. But, he also knows he doesn't particularly have a choice. If Aizen goes after her then Ichigo will do his best to stop him, maybe he'll even succeed. After all, he's managed to keep Renji, Uryuu, and Shuuhei alive, and they're all on Aizen's 'most wanted' list. Surely he can manage one more person.

"Do it. Ask her and we can have her captain's test within a few days if she agrees."

Shuuhei shifts over a fraction, gently pressing their shoulders together and providing a steady support. Ichigo knows Shuuhei can read the war in his eyes – he's _never_ been good at hiding his emotions. The desire to keep a friend safe facing off with his duties and responsibility as captain-commander of the Gotei thirteen to make sure all his divisions are running to their best ability.

"If Tatsuki-fuku-taichou does accept, we'll need a new vice-captain for the second. Are we allowing Soi Fon to choose her own?"

He gratefully accepts the contact, snorting at his lieutenant's question, "as if she'd ever accept someone if we appointed them. Yes, Soi Fon can choose her own vice-captain with no interference from me."

Shuuhei nods in confirmation.

"Ikkaku-san is running the eleventh as well as it ever runs, nothing serious there though you can expect some late paperwork, as usual. Kurotsuchi-taichou has finally come up with a list of everything in their inventory and all the different projects they're running, along with brief descriptions. She'll have that to us by tomorrow."

Nemu had taken over after Mayuri's death, almost two years ago. The twelfth is certainly much saner than it used to be, and after she shut down all of Mayuri's pet projects – most of which were useless – the division had actually churned out some very interesting things.

"Finally, the thirteenth," Shuuhei hesitates for a brief moment before continuing, "I think you should ask Ukitake-taichou to step down as captain once we find a suitable replacement."

Ichigo looks over and catches the edge of a darkly worried expression before Shuuhei wipes it clean and returns his look. He's not entirely surprised, in fact he's been thinking the same thing. Ukitake is strong, no one can argue that, but Shunsui's death hit him hard and his illness has been steadily worsening. He isn't always in a condition to lead his division on the battlefield and they honestly can't afford to have a leaderless division these days.

"I know. I'll talk to him, Shuuhei. I promise," he pauses to consider the logistics. They don't have anyone – as far as he knows – about to gain bankai, and Ukitake's health is an issue _now_. "Make sure Kotetsu-fuku-taichou knows how to lead the thirteenth, just in case."

Shuuhei nods and leans forward, making a last note on the paper before folding it and tucking it into his uniform. "Yes, Kurosaki-sou-taichou."

Ichigo straightens and pulls away from Shuuhei's shoulder as the older man starts to gather up the papers on the table, watching and admiring the grace and play of hard muscle. Shuuhei looks back at him, one eyebrow raised and expression silently demanding an explanation for why he's still standing there. He sighs and rolls his eyes, stepping back and half-turning away.

"Alright, alright, I'll go talk to Ukitake."

"Fourth first," Shuuhei interjects immediately, reaching across the table for the last of the papers and shuffling them into a neat pile.

" _Really?_ "

Shuuhei's lips curl into a tiny smirk as he straightens to his full height and tucks the papers underneath his left arm. "Go to the fourth, speak to Ukitake _and_ Matsumoto, and I'll make sure everything that needs attention in the first is complete in two hours. Deal?"

Clever bastard knows _just_ how to wrap him around his fingers. The promise of a night off for the first time in _weeks_ , to actually be able to sleep – or not sleep, that sounds good too – for more than a hastily grabbed two or three hours.

He answers the smirk, "The first _and_ ninth, then you have a deal."

Shuuhei's eyes flare with banked heat and the older man gives a soft laugh, "what a hardship, Kurosaki-sou-taichou. Deal. Now get going."

Ichigo turns without another word as warmth builds in his chest. He leaves the first division's headquarters and jumps to the roof, taking off towards the fourth. Shuuhei has been his – lover, partner? – for just over five years now. The older man is perfect, in his opinion. Attractive and honest and not at all opposed, in fact that had been what started it, to being his grounding rock in the midst of the chaos of the war. Maybe, when the war ends – _if it ends_ – they can settle down. Maybe even retire, eventually.

A lot of things hinge on 'when the war ends'.

Uryuu intends to move to America, just to escape all the memories of Karakura, and – if Ichigo remembers correctly – the Quincy wants to start a career over there as a fashion designer. _When the war ends_ the two remaining vizards – just Lisa and Hachi, now – are going to leave, though they haven't shared, and he won't ask, where. Nanao has expressed her desire to marry her longtime partner Ikkaku (and there's a match he _never_ expected) once the fighting is done, but the both of them agree that they won't even consider it while the war is still going.

Too many things hinge on the eventual end of a war that so far doesn't have an end in sight.

He lands in front of the fourth with practiced ease, startling a few division members with his sudden appearance. He nods to them and heads into the division, angling himself towards where he can feel Unohana's reiatsu. _That's_ a skill that took way too long for him to master. Reiatsu control and kidou was his deepest weakness for a very long time and only Unohana's terrifying patience and Shuuhei's endless determination pulled him past it. He certainly doesn't have skills in that category even _close_ to his lieutenant's or Nanao's – that woman can do things with kidou that scare even him – but he's getting better.

Besides, any kidou he uses is absurdly powerful without him really needing the finer points of control and he knows enough to recognize what kidou Aizen is going to throw at him next, which is the most important part.

He steps into the doorway of the room Unohana is currently in just as she pats the occupant of the room – a mid-thirties black haired man with bandages wrapped around his chest and right arm – on his uninjured shoulder and speaks softly.

"Rest, Hisaka-san."

The man nods, his eyelids already drooping, and Unohana looks up at Ichigo. She moves across the room and he steps back to stop blocking the doorway, briefly inclining his head in response to the soft smile she gives him.

"How can I help you, Kurosaki-sou-taichou?"

Inevitably, Unohana always makes him feel absurdly young and inexperienced - which he is, technically. The only reason he's captain-commander instead of her is that she had declined the offer and admitted that she would much prefer to stay captain of the fourth. He's pretty sure that even Aizen would never dare harm Unohana - she's just that scary.

"Shuuhei sent me over, Unohana-san."

She crooks a finger for him to follow her and he does, staying several steps behind as she leads him to an unoccupied room and waves him inside. He steps in and shrugs out of his captain's coat, throwing it onto the chair directly next to the door. The door clicks shut behind him as he moves to sit on the edge of the bed that dominates the center of the room.

He knows the drill by now. He's been in and out of the fourth _way_ too many times in the twelve odd years since the start of the war, especially after Orihime's death - _No_. Since he'd had her killed. That wound will never close, and he's never had to make a harder choice than that, but Soul Society couldn't afford to have her around anymore. There was no way they could compete with Aizen when his troops took all of an hour to heal, if that. Eventually, when they were all forced to go back into battle against fully healed Espada with their own injuries still bleeding and bandaged, and when Byakuya had died as a result of that, Shuuhei had _demanded_ he make a choice. Either expend every effort to rescue her, or have the second division kill her. They didn't have the strength to get her out, so he called it.

He didn't sleep that night, or the rest of that week, and every time he closed his eyes he saw her staring back at him, grey eyes sad and accusatory. Uryuu wouldn't look at him for months afterwards. He still, occasionally, wakes from nightmares related to that.

"So, Kurosaki-san, what happened?"

He shakes his head, frowning and bringing the memory back to the front of his mind. "No idea. We were talking, nothing out of the ordinary, there was this bright flash of white light and I got really dizzy for a few seconds. Then, nothing. It all just went away."

She makes a soft noise of understanding and moves forwards, pressing her left hand against his forehead. He shivers at the current of reiatsu that slides into him, recognizing it as Unohana's version of a basic check-up. Ichigo's eyes slip closed and he relaxes, letting the tension bleed out of his muscles and his reiatsu settles into a smooth pond instead of the storm ravaged ocean it's been since the bout of dizziness.

Unohana always has this effect on him. Just being around her – when she's not irritated at you in that ' _I'm going to be so cuttingly polite and friendly that you'll immediately be guilty and fix whatever is irritating me_ ' way – is calming, soothing. She's like the adopted mother of the entire Gotei thirteen, and how she manages that he doesn't know.

"There doesn't appear to be anything wrong with you, Kurosaki-san."

He stirs and flicks his eyes open as Unohana withdraws her hand, looking up at the other captain. Her blue eyes are warm and she smiles at him in a way that on anyone else would be completely friendly and open. On her it is a ' _you're going to listen to me and do exactly as I say_ ' smile, and he obediently straightens up and pays full attention.

"Most likely it was caused by simple stress. I'd recommend you get some sleep, Kurosaki-san. Go home early today."

Sometimes he swears Shuuhei can see the future. If it hadn't been such a spur of the moment visit he might even think the two of them were conspiring against him. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Shuuhei already has plans to have everything done in both of our divisions in a little under two hours. That good with you, Unohana-san?"

Her smile twitches upwards, becomes a genuine expression of warmth with no meaning behind it, and she nods. "Express my thanks to Hisagi-san, Kurosaki-san," she steps back and moves to the door, speaking softly over her shoulder as she opens it, "and tell him I said not to keep you up _all_ night." He flushes as she sweeps away without glancing back, any kind of rebuttal impossible in the face of her gentle teasing.

He shakes his head and stands, walking across the room to collect his captain's coat. He shrugs back into it and steps out of the room, easily navigating back through the fourth division and out to its courtyard. Seriously, he knows the fourth division _way_ too well. The only other divisions he can navigate as well as the fourth are the first and ninth, for obvious reasons.

Now, to Ukitake.

He jumps back into the air, enjoying the rush of wind that beats against his face and billows out his coat, and makes his way to the thirteenth via rooftops. The corridors below are fine if he feels the need to think or just to walk, but totally useless for actually getting from one area to another quickly. Someday, once – _if_ – the war ends, he's going to tear down the entire place and rebuild it. There is _no_ reason for it to be so complicated.

He follows Ukitake's reiatsu signature to the much older man's office, setting down in the thirteenth's main courtyard. Kiyone – the thirteenth's vice-captain since her third-seat partner Sentarou's death – waves as he straightens up and detaches herself from the group of shinigami she'd been talking to. He meets her halfway as the other shinigami none-too-subtly ogle at them.

"Here to talk to Ukitake-taichou, Kurosaki-sou-taichou?" He nods and she grins, ever playing the friendly kid. "Follow me!"

He does, letting her lead him through the thirteenth division to Ukitake's office. The other shinigami step out of their way and murmur greetings, bowing and not meeting his eyes. He'll never get used to that. Still, he supposes it's better than the _looks_ he got before becoming captain-commander, when he was just some part-human kid with way too much power who also just so happened to be Soul Society's only hope against Aizen.

Kiyone smiles again and knocks on the door to Ukitake's office, receiving a muffled, "Come in!"

She opens the sliding door and he enters after giving her a nod of thanks, the door sliding shut behind him. Ukitake looks up and his eyes widen for a brief moment before the captain straightens and smiles, carefully setting down the pen in his hand.

"Kurosaki-sou-taichou! How can I help you?"

Ichigo moves into the room, taking the chair opposite the desk from Ukitake and flicking eyes over the captain. He looks good today, normal color in his cheeks and his hands lacking the tremor usually there if he's had an attack recently.

"Ukitake-san, I…" His throat locks. Ukitake is one of his most trusted friends, one of the few people he's never doubted. Asking him to step down from a position he's had _long_ before Ichigo was even born is more difficult than he thought it'd be.

Ukitake sighs and his smile softens, hands clasping together in front of him. "Ah, I was wondering when you'd get around to it. You're here to ask me to step down as captain, correct?"

He nods, wincing. "Not immediately, but when we find someone capable of replacing you."

Ukitake smiles and leans back in his chair, "In truth I was considering asking you to replace me if you didn't get around to it soon. I'm getting too old for this, and while I am perfectly willing to continue fighting till the war ends, it isn't fair to the thirteenth to have a leader who isn't capable of leading half the time." The older captain gives him a reassuring smile, brown eyes light and friendly. "Let me know when you have a replacement in mind, Kurosaki-san. I'll gladly hand over my seat and stick around for awhile to help them integrate with life here."

He can't help sighing in relief, eyes flickering closed for a brief moment. "Thanks, Ukitake-san. That makes things a lot simpler."

Ukitake chuckles and straightens up, reclaiming his pen from the desk and pulling several papers towards him. "You're welcome, Kurosaki-san. Now I imagine there are a few other errands on Hisagi-san's list which you need to attend to. Thank you for the visit, Kurosaki-sou-taichou."

Effectively dismissed, Ichigo bows his head and stands from the chair. He leaves the division, nodding to Kiyone on the way out, and pauses in the courtyard. Matsumoto will be the most difficult of his 'errands'.

She's still grieving for Hitsugaya's death – only a few short months ago – and she's been trying to manage the tenth on top of that and with only a third-seat hurriedly turned vice-captain to help. They'd thought she was ready but, well, the late paperwork and recent disorganization of the tenth division proved that she wasn't. He doesn't relish the idea of telling Matsumoto that if Tatsuki accepts their offer she'll be replaced by a woman at least fifty years her junior, and she'll _also_ be expected to return to her post as vice-captain and help said woman.

He can't imagine she'll take that news well, Ichigo knows he wouldn't if their positions were reversed.

He takes to the air, hunting down Matsumoto's unique reiatsu pattern and moving towards it. She's outside her division – in one of the training yards – watching silently as her vice-captain drills what Ichigo knows _has_ to be the latest batch of recruits from the Academy. He can't stifle a wince at her appearance, her eyes ringed with dark circles and a heavy mix of exhaustion and grief in her gaze. Nevertheless she immediately turns towards him as he lands next to her, summoning a tiny smile to her lips.

"Welcome, Kurosaki-sou-taichou. What is it?"

"I have something to tell you, Matsumoto-san." Worry lights in her eyes but all she does is nod in assent, obviously bracing to hear it. "Shuuhei and I are going to ask Tatsuki to take over as captain of the tenth. If she accepts, you'll be moved back down to vice-captain."

To his surprise Matsumoto sighs in relief, sagging. "Oh thank _god!_ " He gets less than a second's warning before she has him in a bone-crushingly tight hug, her head on his shoulder.

" _Matsumoto…_ " he manages to croak out as his ribs groan in protest, but she completely ignores him.

"I am _so_ not cut out for this! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I've never been so grateful to be demoted in my _life!_ "

" _Matsumoto,_ " he repeats, vainly pushing at her chest, " _need to_ _ **breathe**_ _._ "

"Oh!" She releases him and he gasps in air, coughing and wincing at the leftover twinges from his abused sides. "Sorry, Kurosaki-sou-taichou." He waves off the apology and she beams, looking about two inches away from hugging him again and he edges away because _really_ , once was enough.

"I'll let you know when Tatsuki decides, but ideally we'll have her test within a few days and the ceremony right after that."

She nods, still smiling, and then gives him a sly little wink that she _must_ have learned from Shunsui. "Have a good night with Shuuhei, Kurosaki- _sou-taichou_. Thank him for me, hm?" She turns without letting him answer, swaying over towards her vice-captain and the recruits.

He shakes his head and sighs, though his lips do quirk upwards in a smile of his own. There's maybe an hour and a half left of work back at his division before the promised night off, before he can spend all night properly reacquainting himself with Shuuhei. They haven't had this much time to themselves in a very long time, it'll be nice to be able to relax and just be himself instead of 'the captain-commander'.

He heads back to the first division, finding a moderately sized stack of paperwork on his desk with a note stuck to the top, written in smooth, flowing handwriting.

_Already looked over these, just need a signature. See you at six._

He sinks into his chair and runs a hand through his hair before reaching for one of the two or three pens on his desk. After that he sinks into a kind of trance, mindlessly pulling papers towards him and signing his name at the required spots. It's dull – mind-numbingly boring to be honest – but sadly necessary. It's everything from supply requests to reports from shinigami stationed in the human world, and every single one needs either his approval or a signature confirming that he's read it.

Thank god for Shuuhei or he'd be up to his neck in the stuff.

Eventually he's woken by a light tap to the frame of his door. He flinches, going into high alert for a moment before he recognizes the reiatsu and face at his door as Shuuhei's. His lieutenant gives a soft smile, dark grey eyes amused.

"Lose track of time?"

He straightens up and drops the pen, pushing back from the desk. "Well there's no clock in here, what do you expect?" He gets to his feet, pushing his arms over his head in a stretch and groaning at the multitude of cracks from his back. "What time is it?"

Shuuhei crosses the room with an easy grace and circles the desk to stand next to him, smirk tugging at his lips. "Two minutes till six. How'd your meetings go?"

He looks over at the other man, dropping his arms down and returning the smirk. "Ukitake is perfectly willing to step down, _wants_ to, actually. Matsumoto is the same way. Matsumoto and Unohana wanted me to thank you." He grins, reaching out and taking a fistful of the older man's shirt to pull him closer. "And Unohana says to tell you not to keep me up _all_ night."

Shuuhei leans in and they share a kiss, chaste and sweet. "Well, I suppose we'll have to get started earlier then, hm? Dinner?"

"I can wait," he nearly growls, dragging Shuuhei back down.

But right before their lips touch Ichigo stiffens, something tugging deep in his soul and raising warning bells in every corner of his mind. "Fuck…" he hisses out, leaning his head down to rest against Shuuhei's shoulder.

A moment later alarms go off, shrieking into the air and undoubtedly waking every shinigami not already awake. Shuuhei sighs and Ichigo can't help but snort as he releases the older man and steps back.

"Aizen's got terrible timing, as usual," he comments.

Shuuhei steps to the window and shoves it open, slipping a foot up onto the windowsill to prepare for a jump. As he does a chill hits Ichigo, something sending a shudder down his spine and settling in his gut. Something is different about this fight, something is important, and he learned a long time ago not to ignore his instincts.

"Shuuhei, wait."

The older man looks back at him, one eyebrow raised and clearly puzzled. "What is it?"

"I love you," he admits, and Shuuhei's eyes widen, "I've never said it, but I do. I thought you should know."

Shuuhei doesn't move off the windowsill but he gives a soft smile as he quietly says, "I love you too, Ichigo." He holds out a hand and Ichigo takes it, allowing the older man to pull him towards the window. "Let's go, we have a would-be god to defeat, remember?"

He grins, feeling lighter than he has in a long time and launches himself from the window towards where he can feel Aizen waiting. Soukyoku hill, how appropriate. The Espada and Arrancar he's brought along are already wreaking havoc, but he can feel his own forces moving to counter them. He knows Shuuhei will make sure to deploy everyone as efficiently as possible, tactics and strategy are his strongest point after all. Not like Ichigo. He can hit, and hit hard, but in the end his only job in this fight is to keep Aizen occupied. He's the only one who can stand up to the traitor, Aizen has made sure to wipe out every other threat.

He skids to a stop as he draws Zangetsu from its sheath at his waist, the massive blade long since sealed into a normal state instead of its permanent shikai. Aizen smiles at him, all knives behind the mask of honey, Kyouka Suigetsu already drawn at his side.

"Come back for another try, bastard?" he snaps and Aizen laughs, the traitor's reiatsu cold and abrasive against his own where they brush against each other.

"Of course. Ready, Ichigo-kun?"

"Let's dance, Aizen."

There's no point in drawing this out, not at this stage. They're both too powerful and they know each other too well to waste time on the normal ritual of combat.

"Bankai, Tensa Zangetsu!"

The dust swirls around him but even through the roar of power in his ears he can hear Aizen's similar call.

"Bankai, Kyouka Suigetsu Oroseken!"

Great, just great. Aizen's bankai has to be the nastiest piece he's ever seen, and that's saying something considering Soi Fon has a _nuke_ and Shuuhei's focuses on depriving his opponent of air and slowly suffocating them. No offense to his partner but he'd really like to never watch that again.

A single drop of Ichigo's blood on his blade and Aizen will be able to trap him inside a mental universe that is completely and utterly under his control. Anything that the traitor can imagine – and that imagination is _damn_ vivid – he can create and even though none of it is real, and they're simply frozen on the outside, it definitely _feels_ real.

The dust starts to clear and he jumps forwards towards the reiatsu he can feel pushing against his own, shoving his blade against Aizen's. The other man is still smiling and that sets him on edge, normally Aizen has long since started smirking. In fact, the last time he can recall Aizen smiling like this was mid-way through one of their previous fights. Oh god, no. It had been the day he'd set Stark on Shunsui and very deliberately had Ukitake distracted so there was no one to watch the captain of the eighth's back.

"What did you do?!" he demands, a hundred different possibilities jumping to the front of his mind. Tatsuki, Renji, Uryuu, _Shuuhei_.

Aizen casually flicks his blade aside, an unvoiced kidou flying from his hand, and Ichigo brushes it aside with his bare hand and swirls out of the way of the follow-up slash of Kyouka Suigetsu. He answers with a thrust to Aizen's ribs that the traitor slides away from, still smiling.

"Haven't you sensed it already, Ichigo-kun?" A brief check of the different reiatsu signatures and Ichigo knows what the other man is talking about, the blood draining from his face. Aizen gives a mock noise of worry, cruel amusement dancing in his eyes. "I don't think dear Shuuhei is up to the task of beating Stark, do you?"

No. Shuuhei is powerful, but not _that_ powerful. He'll never survive against Stark, not if the Espada is even halfway serious, and if this is _Aizen's direct order_ then Stark – true to his nature – will do it quickly and efficiently and Shuuhei will die.

"You _bastard_ ," he snarls, lunging at Aizen. The traitor blocks his sword and his left hand flings a kidou at Ichigo who turns to avoid it, letting the burst of white energy fly past his cheek with only inches to spare. "I'll fucking kill you!"

Another swing of metal and Aizen's sword flashes past his throat, Zangetsu driving forward in response and being pushed away by the flat of the blade. "You've tried before, Ichigo-kun."

He barely avoids the next slice of Kyouka Suigetsu, the blade ripping a small hole in the fabric of his captain's coat which – for some reason he's never been able to figure out – sticks around when he goes into bankai. Aizen smirks and presses forwards, ducking low to aim another strike at Ichigo's stomach. He jumps back and reaches inwards for the well of reiatsu deep in his soul, immediately stepping forwards again to counter as he begins to whisper a kidou chant under his breath. Damnit, Shuuhei and Unohana had drilled the incantations into his mind so he might as well use them.

 _Shuuhei_.

"Ye lord, mask of flesh and blood," Aizen's eyes narrow and the traitor goes on full offensive, "flutter of wings, ye who bears the name of man," Ichigo's driven back, gritting his teeth against the force of Aizen's blows, "truth and temperance, upon this sinless wall of dreams," Kyouka Suigetsu slides past his guard, slicing another hole in his coat as he jerks to the side to stop it cutting open his side, "unleash but slightly the wrath of your claws."

He bats aside Aizen's sword, stepping in closer and lashing out with his left hand, energy gathering at his fingertips. "Hadou thirty-three, Soukatsui!"

Aizen whirls out of the way of the massive blue blast of energy, a single step of shunpo taking him out of harm's way. He knows he should take advantage of the traitor's momentary distraction, but as he starts to move Shuuhei's reiatsu flares in panic and he hesitates, caught between fighting Aizen and leaving to save his lieutenant. Aizen reemerges and the choice is taken from him as the older man throws another unvoiced kidou at him and follows right on its heels.

He flicks Zangetsu to send the kidou ricocheting off into the dirt and nearly gets impaled by Kyouka Suigetsu as Aizen drives it forward. It misses him by almost nothing, sinking through the fabric of his coat and so close he can almost feel the biting cold of it through his bankai robes. He immediately lashes out with Zangetsu and Aizen jerks back, drawing far enough away to free his sword and avoid all but a thin slice across his cheek that instantaneously begins beading blood. He takes a step forward to pursue Aizen and Shuuhei's reiatsu spikes again, stilling him.

Aizen smirks, Kyouka Suigetsu hanging at his side. "If I'd known you were this easy to distract I would have sent Stark after your little lieutenant years ago, Ichigo-kun."

Fury sparks and he almost lunges at Aizen before he feels Shuuhei's reiatsu waver. He almost turns, almost leaps into the air with all of his considerable speed to save the other man, until Aizen's smirk and the anticipatory gleam in the older man's eyes bring him crashing back down to reality.

He _can't_ save Shuuhei.

If he leaves to save his lieutenant from Stark then Aizen will follow him. If he kills Stark – and that's not hard, he's _so_ much stronger than the Espada – then Shuuhei will be stuck in the middle of a fight between him and Aizen, and that's not a place _anyone_ can survive. Especially not since Aizen will make sure to send as many stray bursts of energy towards the lieutenant as possible.

Shuuhei will just have to save himself because there's nothing Ichigo can do without making the situation worse. It burns, but he forces himself to focus on Aizen and turn his worry and anger into fuel for his determination. The best thing he can do at the moment is to keep Aizen busy and, hopefully, kill him.

Yeah… not likely.

"Go to hell, Aizen."

The older man's smirk widens a little, brown eyes alight with cruel amusement. "Not likely, but you're welcome to try and send me there if you like," Aizen slides his left foot back, turning sideways, and continues with words that Ichigo knows _far_ too well, "Seeping crest of turbidity, arrogant vessel of lunacy."

Fuck. He jumps forwards, trying to keep Aizen from continuing that chant. The spell itself is devastating but when Aizen bothers to chant the whole thing – which he's done all of _three times_ and Ichigo doesn't think he's ever lost more blood than the one time he got caught in it – it's more than enough to kill a normal captain. Aizen bats aside his sword and retaliates with a swift slash that forces him to retreat several steps. The traitor doesn't give him a chance to come back on the offensive, pursuing him and forcing him to struggle just to avoid Kyouka Suigetsu.

"Boil forth and deny, grow numb and flicker. Carriage of thunder, bridge of a spinning wheel," wait, those aren't the words to Kurohitsugi, "Disrupt sleep, crawling queen of iron, eternally self-destructing doll of mud. Unite! Repulse! With light, divide this into six! Fill with soil and know your own powerlessness!"

Aizen pauses and raises his left hand, smirk _just_ shy of a grin. "Bakudou sixty-one, Rikujoukourou! Hadou ninety, Kurohitsugi!"

Yellow light leaves Aizen's hand just before black energy pours from it and Ichigo can only think one thing as the binding kidou slams into his midsection and immobilizes him, the black energy starting to form around both him and Aizen in the distinctive box shape.

Oh, _**shit**_.

Aizen steps back and out of the box, it slams shut behind him. The reiatsu vibrates around Ichigo and as the kidou activates, lancing dark energy at him and shattering the yellow binding spell on impact, he screams.

It hurts, unbelievably so, and he can feel each individual spear of the kidou as it slices through his skin. His massive reiatsu is enough to dull it and stop it from being fatal, but that's about all. He's finished, that's all there is to it. While Zangetsu is still in his hand – he will _not_ release his grip on the sword – it won't be useful. He can feel one of the spears where it's impaling his right calf, that'll slow him down, and another that's been driven through his left side. He breathes shallowly, struggling not to let the second scream building in his throat pass.

The kidou – after what feels like several long minutes – withdraws and he staggers, crying out at the fresh pain to his leg, side, and the hundred other surface – and not so surface – cuts overlaying his skin. Blood soaks the tattered remains of his clothing and drips to the ground, _too much_ of it.

Ichigo catches movement out of the corner of his eye and registers Aizen's presence, far too late, as the traitor steps in front of him and smoothly thrusts Kyouka Suigetsu forward and through his chest. He stares at the blade for a moment before raising his eyes to Aizen's face. The brown eyes are cold, dark, and he shivers.

That's it, Aizen's won. Ichigo's not going to survive – even he can't usually shake off a sword through the chest – and he knows it, he can _feel_ it. At the edge of his perception he feels Ukitake join Shuuhei and has a moment of relief. Good, Ukitake is a match for Stark, Shuuhei will survive the Espada after all even though he couldn't be there to save him.

Wait…

"Rest in peace, Ichigo-kun."

No. Shuuhei will never accept Aizen's rule, and the traitor will kill him without a doubt. Shuuhei and Renji and Uryuu and Tatsuki and every other person Ichigo knows. _No_.

He grabs Aizen's arm with his left hand, dragging the startled traitor closer as he brings Zangetsu up through pure force of will. Aizen gives a shocked gasp as the sword slides into his flesh in a near mirror of Ichigo's own wound.

"Not alone," he grits out, hand tightening around Zangetsu even as his legs give out and send him crashing to the ground. Because of the way they're connected Aizen is pulled down with him, a cry of pain leaving the traitor's lips as Ichigo's sword digs into the edges of the injury.

"You…" Aizen gasps out, brown eyes narrowed in anger, and Ichigo can't help but sag against the older man. His head falls against Aizen's shoulder, pain creasing his brow even as satisfaction rises from the tremble he can feel in Aizen's frame.

"You think I'd die and not take you with me?" He snorts and then winces. Sudden clarity hits him and he relaxes, cold starting to invade the tips of his fingers. "Come on, Aizen. This is how it has to end, this is how it's _always_ had to end."

Aizen shudders against him and he feels the traitor's head settle against his shoulder, warm breath hitting his neck. "I should have killed you years ago."

He chokes out a laugh, tasting the coppery flavor of blood as it fills his mouth. "Yeah. Should is a terrible word, isn't it?"

The traitor chuckles, breathy and laced with pain. "Is this really an appropriate time to discuss the merits of the word 'should', Ichigo-kun?"

Yeah, Aizen has a point there. "Probably not," he admits, closing his eyes against the white fabric of Aizen's outfit. Not that it'll be white for long, he's bleeding all over it. In the back of his mind he feels Stark falter, fall, and sighs just as Aizen flinches against him.

"There goes that," the traitor murmurs, "I suppose Shuuhei will be here any minute now to scream a long, cliché, 'no' at you."

He can, in fact, feel Shuuhei moving towards them, Ukitake at his heels. The pain has dulled, partly due to the cold stealing into his limbs and partly because of his lack of movement. He knows if he tries to pull away from Aizen the sword will shift in his chest and ignite a fresh wave of pain. It's so much easier to just stay here with his eyes closed and lean against Aizen and let that cold numb all the pain of the hundred or so slices in his skin. He gives an involuntary shiver as his clothes shift around him and change back into his normal shinigami uniform, a clear sign that he's dying.

Is it sad this has happened to him five separate times?

Ichigo lets out a long breath, his hand dropping from Zangetsu as his thoughts fog. Someone is yelling – or at least he _thinks_ that sound in his ears is yelling – but it's dim and muted and not important at the moment, right?

The void pulls at him and he lets it, sinking into its welcoming abyss and letting the darkness strip him into nothingness.


	2. Chapter 2

Ichigo gasps and his eyes fly open, back arching painfully. All he can see is off-white walls bathed in a soft yellow light with no identifiable source, even as he collapses back to what he assumes is an equally off-white floor. He coughs and then heaves several deep breaths as he rolls over to get his arms underneath him.

What the _hell?_ What had that been? There had been the bright white light as Aizen prepared to kill him and then… _that_.

Seriously, what the _fuck_?

He'd get the whole watch your life flash before your eyes thing, but that hadn't been anywhere close to his past. That had been a future or… something. He didn't even…

"Kurosaki!"

He startles and whips his head up, eyes focusing on an approaching – and clearly pissed – Aizen. Ichigo jerks up and makes it to his knees before the traitor lashes out, grabs a handful of his shinigami uniform, and hauls him up the rest of the way.

"What have you done?" Aizen hisses, brown eyes narrowed and everything about him radiating danger.

Maybe he has no sense of self-preservation but he doesn't even think before shoving Aizen away from him, forcing the traitor to release him as he glares right back. "What have _I_ done? That's my line, bastard! What the _hell_ was that?!"

_Enough!_

Something sweeps his legs out from under him and sends him crashing to the ground with a yelp, barely catching himself on his arms. He pushes back up to his knees and looks around for the source of the mental shout, noting with no small satisfaction that Aizen is on the ground as well. The room they're in is fairly small, though the walls seem to blur if he looks at them too closely, and there aren't any visible doors or windows. It also seems to be unoccupied apart from them.

"I'm here."

He jerks his head around to look in the direction of the voice and immediately wonders how he missed the person standing there the first time. He's between Aizen and Ichigo's height and seems to be emitting white light from his very pores, softening every line of his body and making it hard to pin down anything about his appearance. Long hair falls down his back and he's in some kind of white clothing, though Ichigo can't tell what it is. Golden eyes are watching him, hard and just barely narrowed, though they flick to Aizen when the traitor stands.

"And you are?" Aizen asks, superiority in each line of his stance and tone.

The person – _being_ – grins, steps closer, and Aizen gives a small sound of frustration as his right leg buckles and he's forced to one knee. "You can call me God or King, Aizen."

No way. The _King_?

The being steps back again, eyes glancing between the two of them. "Not of your universe. Your world doesn't have a King yet, that's why I'm here." He can't help staring as the King sits down onto what looks like a chair of pure energy, one leg crossing over the other. "Here's the deal, this is how the post of King works. Hush, Aizen, I know that you've researched this but you're _wrong_."

Aizen's mouth snaps shut with an almost audible click. Irritation is sharp in his brown eyes but it's tempered with almost equally sharp curiosity. The King watches the traitor for a moment, ensuring that he'll remain silent, before continuing.

"Good. The King acts as a balancing force for the universe. He, or she, is what keeps all the different worlds in balance and makes sure they don't fall to ruin. This is a destiny sort of thing. You're either the one who's supposed to be the King, or you aren't. No one who isn't supposed to be the King can ascend to the throne, but those who are supposed to don't _have_ to. The King keeps the balance until a new King is chosen, and there's a set person every few thousand years or so. There are at least a couple thousand different universes, probably more, and at least _one_ has to get it right."

"Here's where things get interesting. Any universe that doesn't get it right vanishes as soon as one does – which is a good thing because all those other worlds have fallen into ruin and war. Then an entirely new set of universes is born as if the old ones made the right choices, and life continues. Understand so far?"

Ichigo gives a hesitant nod and Aizen echoes it. The irritation has mostly vanished from the older man's gaze and instead his eyes are thoughtful and turned down to the ground. "Then what happens if there is no universe where the rightful King has ascended?" he asks softly, looking up at the King.

"All reality is wiped clean and we start over from scratch with completely different people. We, cease to exist." Ichigo can't help shuddering but Aizen only shifts to sit cross legged, studying the King.

"Unless you decided to deceive us for some reason, you said you were the King. We should be set for this round unless you're the previous King, though I'd imagine you'd look older if you were."

The King laughs, golden eyes lighting with amusement. "Not necessarily, but I'm not the last King, he was gone by the time I got there. I'm this round's King, but I'm not _all_ of this round's King and I was getting around to explaining that. On rare occasions there isn't a single person with a soul capable of balancing the universe, occasionally there are two people."

Horrible suspicion settles in Ichigo's stomach and the King looks over at him with a smirk as if sensing it. "Yeah, you get it. The both of you, together, are the King for this round." The King stands as Ichigo stares in shock, smirk vanishing. "You're pretty much polar opposites, and that's just enough to balance the world if you put it all together. Now I've tried this with a couple other universes and you're both stubborn asses so there's no point just talking to you."

Aizen stands, irritation once more in his eyes, and Ichigo scrambles to his feet as well as the traitor begins to talk. "If you think I'm going to share my throne with Kurosaki–"

"You guys are soul mates! I'm God, I know this shit, so suck it up and deal." Aizen flinches in shock, eyes widening, and then his eyes narrow to mere slits.

"Kurosaki is a _child_ and I'm not that–"

The King once again cuts him off, rolling his eyes. "Oh please. Our little tour will prove you wrong but that's not what soul mates means, anyway. You aren't fated to be together or anything, it just means that your two souls are linked and you will _inevitably_ be important to each other in some way, regardless of the universe. Now, let's get going!"

Ichigo comes to a sudden realization, staring at the King, and the gold eyes flick to him with amusement dancing in their depths. "Wait, you're-"

The floor drops out from under him and he falls into darkness before he can finish the thought.

* * *

"Ichigo?"

Ichigo sways on his feet for a moment before shaking his head, looking up to focus on Aizen. The older, wealthier, and stronger man is looking at him with narrowed eyes over his book, glasses perched low on his nose.

"Sorry, Aizen-sama, just a bit of a head-rush," he bows his head, hand tightening around the rag he's been using to clean the desk he's standing by, "I'll be done in just a minute."

Aizen carefully marks his place in the book and sets it down on the small table beside the armchair he's sitting in. "Don't bother with that, come here." He obeys, setting the rag down and approaching the lord, eyes lowered in feigned respect. Aizen reaches up and grasps his wrist as he stops before him, lightly tracing a thumb over his pulse point. "I bought you as a servant, Ichigo, not my maid. There's no need for you to clean anything unless I order it."

It's strange, almost unbearably so. Aizen had bought him just a little less than three days ago and he's _still_ finding it hard to adjust to the lord's tastes. Aizen hasn't so much as touched him in any kind of sexual sense, doesn't even seem to want to, and that's not even _half_ of his weird behavior. Aizen doesn't mind if he talks, or asks questions or offers suggestions, in fact he _encourages_ it so long as he remembers his place. Like he could ever forget that he's a slave – even if Aizen says servant – or that he has no actual say in his life since being sold that first time.

"Aizen-sama…" he starts, and Aizen gives a slight nod – permission for him to continue. "No offense, and I'm sorry for not knowing, but what am I supposed to be doing?"

Aizen gives a soft smile, gently tugging him down by his wrist to kneel beside his legs. He hates it but doesn't fight, obediently sinking to his knees under the pull. The goal is to convince Aizen that he's a loyal and tamed slave and to make him relax his guard. This is it, the final goal in his long undercover work. If they – him and the other members of the rebellion – can take down Aizen, the lord who runs the slave trade, they'll have completed an impressive accomplishment and be able to rest for awhile. It's just this, just today. He calls to confirm it with Renji at noon and then this place gets swarmed by rebels the moment it hits six.

Aizen releases him and strokes a gentle hand across his cheek. "Nothing, Ichigo." He looks up in surprise and the lord gives a small smirk. "I don't expect you to be a mind-reader, and I certainly don't expect you to find ways to keep yourself busy for my benefit. As my servant all I ask is that you stay in the room with me unless I say otherwise and obey the orders I do give you. Hesitate if you want, ask me why I'm giving them if you want, and so long as I haven't given you something to do you are welcome to entertain yourself. Though I'd appreciate it if you kept the noise level down."

He swallows as Aizen reaches for his book again, watching the older man as he lays it open on his lap. "Really?" He stiffens after realizing he's forgotten to include Aizen's title, which was one of the very first things they'd beaten into him when he started this whole cursed adventure and got himself sold into slavery for his damn _cause_.

Aizen, however, doesn't even look up. "Of course, Ichigo. Though if you plan to strip or sweat in any fashion let me know. I'd like to watch." The whole thing is delivered in a dry murmur without as much as a glance up at him, and it takes a moment for Ichigo to register it as a joke. When it does register he relaxes, letting out a soft sigh of relief and leaning forwards against the chair and the side of Aizen's leg.

The lord shifts and he tenses again, recalling one of the other rules his last master had insisted on and wondering if Aizen is going to hurt him for daring to touch without permission. He flinches as Aizen's hand settles on his head and then begins to softly card through his hair. He slowly relaxes as it becomes clear that the older man isn't going to hurt him, closing his eyes against Aizen's thigh and allowing himself to lean more comfortably against the chair.

It should probably irritate him that he's kneeling on the ground and letting Aizen pet him like some kind of cat, but Ichigo can't bring himself to care. He's so _tired_ , so utterly exhausted from the years and years he's put into this assignment and the utter hell it's been, that being allowed to just relax is glorious. He's done with all this, more than ready to go back to his life and actually live it.

Before he knows it he's fallen into a half-asleep state to the soft stroke of Aizen's hand and the quiet beat of his own heart. It isn't until he's gently shaken and Aizen calls his name that he snaps back to awareness.

His eyes flick open and he jerks up from his comfortable position against the chair. "I, I'm sorry, Aizen-sama!" He shakes his head to clear the lingering fog of sleep and Aizen easily catches his chin, tilting his head up to connect their eyes.

"Did I ask you to do something, Ichigo?"

He hesitates, "I don't… think so."

Aizen raises an eyebrow and gives a soft smile. "Then you don't have to apologize, do you? If you don't hear me I'll know it and make sure to have your attention before I repeat the command. I will punish you for ignoring me, but never simply for not hearing, understood?"

"Yes, Aizen-sama."

The lord gives a satisfied nod and releases him, getting to his feet and motioning for him to do the same. "Good, now come with me. I believe it's about time for lunch, don't you?"

"If you wish, Aizen-sama." Aizen glances at him with sharp eyes and he almost flinches under the look, barely managing to restrain the reaction.

Aizen leaves the room and he silently follows as the lord easily navigates his home – manor, really – to the kitchen, leaning in the doorway. There's a single cook in the room, a tall man with long blonde hair held behind his back in a loose ponytail that's crouched before the open oven. "Il Forte, time frame?"

The man jumps, slamming the oven shut as he whirls on the spot, brown eyes wide. "Holy!" Il Forte clears his throat, straightening up, and gives a shallow bow of his head. "Ten or so minutes, Aizen-sama."

Aizen nods and steps out of the room, walking to the next door which opens into a small dining area with a table that has six chairs around it. Aizen moves to sit at one end as he hovers at the door, uncertain where he's supposed to go. He doesn't see any specific place for him, only the single table. Aizen looks up, obviously noting his uncertainty, and gestures at the chair to his left.

"Sit down, Ichigo."

He's voicing his confusion before he can stop himself. "At the table, Aizen-sama?"

Slight confusion flickers in the lord's eyes and one elegant eyebrow rises. "Yes, Ichigo."

He obeys, feeling tremendously awkward as he slides into the offered chair, clasping his hands in his lap. Aizen places an elbow on the table and props his head against his hand, watching Ichigo with narrowed eyes. He almost squirms under the studying look before he manages to pull up the control his very first trainer had beaten into him and endure the examination.

"I think it's time we talk about your previous masters, Ichigo." He winces without thought and then almost does it again as he realizes the breach of another of the founding rules. _Always show respect to your master, former or present_.

"What would you like to know, Aizen-sama?" he asks softly, letting his eyes fall to the table.

"Let's start with rules. What did your last master enforce?"

Oh, too many rules to count. "Noitora-sama?" Aizen nods and he swallows, feeling his shoulders draw in a little at the memory of the brutal lord. "Obey all orders without question, don't speak or touch anything without permission, always refer and speak to him with respect. Never make eye contact unless ordered, always be ready to serve without hesitation." There were others, minor things, but those had been the worst.

"And your duties?"

He gives a small shrug, risking a glance up at Aizen. The older man's eyes are still narrowed, studying, but there's no anger or displeasure that he can see. "Whatever I was ordered to do, as well as keeping his rooms spotless."

Aizen makes a soft noise of understanding. "That would explain the random cleaning. Why your aversion to the table?"

He grits his teeth for a moment before speaking, carefully wiping all trace of anger from his tone. "My previous masters either had a separate table for the slaves or – more often – fed me on the ground, Aizen-sama. Eating at the same table as my master implies equality that isn't there."

Aizen sighs and this time he can't help flinching. "Look at me, Ichigo." He looks up and Aizen's eyes are soft and compassionate enough to make him inhale sharply in surprise. "We've gone over the whole questioning orders bit, so I won't repeat that, but let me clarify the rest." Aizen pulls his elbow off the table and leans back in his chair, one leg idly crossing over the other. "You are always welcome to speak to me, though I would prefer you not when I'm on the phone or in a meeting unless it is exceedingly important, you do not need to ask permission. You may touch anything you wish, though I will punish you for breaking or damaging anything of mine, keep that in mind. I will tell you if you aren't allowed to touch or read something, but for the most part those things will be locked up anyway."

"As to referring to me with respect, I appreciate it. However I will not punish you for forgetting that unless it is a repeat offence, and the punishment will be light. I actually prefer you look me in the eye, it will allow you to read my moods better and me to read yours as well. As we covered, unless you're doing something I ordered you're welcome to entertain yourself, if something irritates me I will tell you to stop. If, after I've told you to stop, you do it again, I will punish you. I don't expect you to clean anything unless I tell you to, that's what I have maids for. Finally, you will always eat at the same table as me unless I'm having a dinner with other lords. If that occurs, you'll eat either before or afterwards. Am I understood?"

He barely manages to nod, shock and relief heavy in his chest. "Yes, Aizen-sama… Thank you."

Aizen reaches over and strokes a very gentle hand across his cheek. "I'm not going to hurt you unless you earn it, Ichigo. The same rule goes for all of my servants, and ideally, it will soon go for all other masters as well."

He jerks slightly and Aizen gives him a knowing smirk. "I don't suppose you knew about that, did you? As soon as I finalize the draft I'm working on I'll be introducing new laws governing the ownership of slaves. It should make things much better, though I doubt I'll be too popular among the other lords."

He can't seem to breathe, the revelation freezing his lungs. Aizen is trying to better treatment of slaves? Why? He owns the _entire_ market, what would policing it better possibly do for him? There's no possible reason he can see for the lord to do this. In fact it might make owning a slave less popular and in the end earn him _less_ money, so why would Aizen not only get behind but actually _initiate_ this change?

Oh god, and they're going to kill him before he can do it. Ichigo swallows, unable to break Aizen's gaze. What are they actually accomplishing here? Sure, it's quite the statement, but in the end all that will happen is someone else will take over the business and things will be just the way they were. But if Aizen lives then within – probably – weeks he'll be forcing through new laws that will, what exactly?

"What will the laws do?" he asks, and there's definitely more demand in the question than there should be for _any_ slave who's been through as many masters as he has but he can't manage to curb it. Aizen doesn't seem to care, brown eyes deep and mildly amused.

"They'll institute a list of rules that slaves must follow, and specific physical punishment levels for breaking each one, along with limiting what a master can do to a slave under the name of 'punishment'. Masters must petition the lord's counsel to add specialty rules, approved by a majority, and those rules apply only to the specific slave they were requested for. In addition slaves will be able to testify at court cases, even against their own masters if required. It will also make it mandatory to have certain living conditions for a slave, including their own room and bed with a door that cannot be locked from either side."

The lord smirks and tilts his head slightly, eyes glittering at his expression. "What, Ichigo? Do you not believe me? I can pull out my rough draft if you like so you can read it."

Ichigo forces himself to shake his head and finally lower his eyes away from Aizen's all-too-knowing gaze. "No, Aizen-sama, I believe you."

It's probably a good thing that the food arrives right then, Il Forte sliding past a swinging door on the far side of the room and walking in with a plate in each hand. "Lunch, Aizen-sama, Ichigo-san."

Aizen's eyes turn away from him, rising to the blonde servant. "Thank you, Il Forte." The plates are set before them, the servant whipping out forks from _somewhere_ and laying them next to each plate.

"Enjoy! I'd like to talk to you within a few days Ichigo-san so you can tell me what types of food you prefer, alright?"

He numbly nods and Il Forte leaves, Aizen immediately turning and giving a small smile. "Dig in, Ichigo."

He looks down at the plate – pasta of some kind with white sauce over it and bits of chicken – and reaches for the fork. It feels strange in his hand after his time with Noitora, sadistic bastard, and it takes him a few moments to remember exactly how to hold it but as soon as he gets it positioned right it all floods back. It had only been Noitora who had forbid him from using utensils, and he'd only been with that fucker for three or four months before he'd pulled the rest of the rebels in to kill him.

He eats in silence – and _damn_ the food is good – with only occasional glances up at Aizen. Most of the times the lord is just as focused on his food as he is, but every once in awhile he'll look up and catch Aizen just watching him. The older man's eyes are always slightly narrowed, thoughtful and distant. That gaze weighs heavy on his shoulders even when he knows Aizen isn't looking at him, and he gets the impression that he's the only thing on the lord's mind.

Eventually Aizen sets down his fork and pushes away from the table, he almost flinches at the sudden noise. "Done, Ichigo?"

Actually, yes. Somehow, while he'd been distracted with Aizen and thoughts of Aizen, his entire plate of food had managed to disappear. "Yes, Aizen-sama."

The lord smirks and gets to his feet, Ichigo quickly follows him to standing and then out of the room. The dishes are left on the table, where he assumes Il Forte will pick them up once they've left. Aizen leads the way, with him staying two or three steps behind, back to the door of his room. He pauses at the door and turns back to Ichigo, eyes dark and serious.

"I'll be taking a shower, Ichigo. Keep out of trouble and don't leave the house, I'll find you when I'm done."

"You don't, want me with you, Aizen-sama?" he asks cautiously, hope flaring in his chest, and Aizen gives a quiet chuckle.

"Of course I do, Ichigo. How could anyone not?" The lord steps closer, reaching out to slide fingers around the back of his neck. He swallows thickly as Aizen presses him firmly but gently back against the wall, free hand slipping to his waist and toying with the edge of his black button-up shirt. The lord leans down and kisses him, pressing him hard against the wall and easily sliding a single knee between his legs. He can't help the low moan that slips from him as Aizen's hand slips under his shirt and he feels the older man smirk into the kiss, pressing a little harder. But the moment Aizen's hand slips down to his ass he flinches sharply, unpleasant memories of all his other masters rising to the front of his mind.

Aizen stills and then pulls back, releasing him and stepping away. "But I'm afraid the temptation would simply be too much for me, and you're not ready." Ready? No one has _ever_ cared about him being ready or not, or even willing for that matter. It's the law, slaves have to obey. Aizen straightens his own shirt and then reaches out to straighten Ichigo's as well, smirking. "Unless you _are_ ready, in which case feel free to join me. However I have the suspicion that you're not. I should be done around one, I'll find you."

The lord slips into his room and the door shuts firmly behind him. He stares after Aizen for a few moments before stepping away from the wall, shaking his head. He might as well take advantage of the free time, he's supposed to contact Renji around now anyway.

He heads down the corridor towards where he knows – having memorized the layout of the building beforehand – Aizen's personal study is. Of all the phones in the house the one in there is least likely to be monitored or recorded, and he can't afford to be caught this late in the game. The house is surprisingly silent despite the fact that he knows Aizen has at least four other slaves and three legitimate servants-slash-staff. Add to that all the staff he must _not_ know about and he should at least be able to hear someone. It makes him vaguely nervous and he can't help but slow his stride and look surreptitiously around as he reaches the door. It's not marked at all, but this _should_ be it.

He tries the polished bronze knob, mildly surprised to find it unlocked, and steps inside the room. Filing cabinets made of some kind of dark wood are scattered around the room, framing a prominent desk made of some even darker wood. There's a computer and, just as he hoped, a landline phone sitting beside it. He moves inwards and listens carefully for a brief moment before picking up the phone. He carefully dials the number and raises the phone to his ear, it rings twice before abruptly going straight to voicemail.

" _Ichi, yer late and I'm coming by, see you soon."_ It clicks off, the robotic voice starting to inform him of the proper way to leave a voicemail, and he hangs up, biting back a curse.

Of course Renji would pick the far more dangerous way instead of just waiting for him to call. There's legitimate reason – theoretically – for Renji to stop by, since he's Kuchiki Byakuya's primary slave. Not that anyone knows the frigid, practically royal, lord is backing them. He's their biggest source of funding and silent support, but he'll drop them in a second if he's suspected of anything. Just because Renji _can_ stop by doesn't mean he should. It's an enormous risk, and of course, the thick-headed bastard is doing it.

Well, he'd better go find the idiot.

He carefully replaces the phone and leaves the office, making his way back towards the entrance hall. Yeah, entrance hall, Aizen is absurdly wealthy. The manor is still strangely quiet and void of people, he doesn't hear a thing or see as much as a glimpse of anyone the whole way there. The main double door opens literally just as he enters the entrance hall, which is done all in white with wooden floors that are nearly black. Renji steps in, horribly out of place with his long red hair free around his shoulders, though his black butler uniform blends in nicely. Ichigo moves to intercept him, praying he won't say anything damning in front of the cameras he knows are scattered across the entire manor.

Luckily, Renji has a fraction more tact than that. "Hey, I'm here to see Lord Aizen, he here?"

Ichigo nods, bowing his head a little. "I'll inform Aizen-sama of your presence, sir…?"

"Abarai Renji, I've got a message from Lord Kuchiki."

He bows, hating the airs required to keep from betraying himself in front of the cameras. "I'll be right back, sir."

He leaves the room, heading back to Aizen's room and entering it. He can hear the shower from the adjoining bathroom and he winces but moves towards the noise. To keep up appearances he _has_ to interrupt the lord.

He turns the knob and steps in, eyes falling automatically to the shower. There's no curtain, or door, so there's nothing to impede his view of Aizen. And what a view. The older man is completely naked, head under the spray and eyes closed, water streaming down his frame. Aizen's half-turned away, just enough that he can't see the lord's cock, but the ass he can see is firm and round. Ichigo has to swallow at the muscles on display, yards and yards of them, all defined and obviously powerful. Aizen's surprisingly built for being a wealthy lord, enough so that Ichigo can't help feeling a bit envious. Riches tend to make you lazy, but obviouslynot in this case. He wouldn't be surprised if Aizen could pin him with nothing but brute strength, and isn't _that_ a nice mental image.

He's snapped out of his ogling by a deep chuckle, audible even over the spray of water. He jerks his gaze upwards and flushes as he meets Aizen's eyes, the amusement and traces of lust in the lord's look only making him flush harder.

"Enjoying the view, Ichigo?" He averts his gaze, cheeks burning, and hears Aizen step out of the shower. "Decide to join me after all?"

Ichigo can't help looking back and nearly melts into a puddle on the floor at the sight. If he'd thought the view before was nice, then this was heavenly. Seeing Aizen moving towards him, smirking and clearly predatory, his muscles moving smoothly beneath his pale skin – well, not pale but still fairly white as opposed to tanned – and trickles of water sliding down his still wet body. His cock swings between his legs as he walks, and even limp it's still impressive – he can only imagine what it would be like when erect.

He forces his eyes upwards as Aizen stops – _way_ too close – and has to bite back a moan. Aizen's brown eyes are dark and slightly lidded, and his hair is nearly black with moisture and plastered to his skull. Regardless of the shit his other masters put him through Ichigo _cannot_ deny that Aizen is absurdly handsome. If things were different, and Aizen and he were on even footing, he'd try for a night with the lord in a _second_.

He shivers when Aizen reaches out and slides his right hand around the back of his neck, leaning down and kissing him. He nearly just steps forward and lets the lord do whatever he likes, but instead manages – barely – to pull back a little and raise his right hand to press against Aizen's bare chest. Aizen lets him retreat the few inches, though his eyes silently demand an explanation.

He swallows thickly, both regretting and most certainly _not_ regretting putting his hand on Aizen's chest. "There's an Abarai Renji with a message for you, Aizen-sama," he manages to breathe out, struggling to keep his hand exactly where it is and not let it slide down to explore the rest of Aizen's very distracting frame.

Aizen chuckles and he can't help but shudder, jaw clenching for a brief moment. "Is that right?" The lord's free hand comes forward and undoes the first button of his shirt. Ichigo inhales shakily when Aizen traces the tips of his fingers over the exposed skin at his collar, dark brown eyes still holding his gaze. "Did he ask for me?" Aizen asks softly, and he barely notices that the older man is undoing the next button of his shirt.

"Yes, Aizen-sama."

"Mmmm… Well then," the lord kisses him again, murmuring against his lips, "I suppose I should go meet with him, shouldn't I?" Aizen's head lowers and the older man presses a soft kiss to the side of his throat before sharply biting into the skin over the left side of his exposed collarbone. He gasps at the sudden pain, left hand flying forward to grip Aizen's side as he gives a small jerk. Aizen draws back and releases his neck, smirk firmly in place and eyes glittering with amusement.

"Escort Abarai to the parlor, would you?" Aizen says softly and Ichigo mutely nods, not trusting his voice. Aizen's smirk grows a fraction and he feels the lord refasten the buttons he'd undone, each stray brush of his fingers sending a tiny burst of warmth into his skin. "It's the first door on your right when you leave the foyer, you passed it on your way back. I'm assuming of course that you ran into Abarai in the foyer…"

"Yeah," he chokes out after a moment, recalling that foyer is just the fancy way to refer to an entrance hall.

Aizen smoothes out Ichigo's shirt with a few long – and unnecessarily slow – strokes, eyes dark and heated. "Come back here when you're done." He forces himself to nod and Aizen gives a lazy smile that curls up at one edge. "You might want to release me if you intend to leave at any point, Ichigo."

He jerks his hands away as if burned, backing up a step, and feels his flush return in full force. "I… I'll be right back," he stammers and quickly retreats, Aizen's laugh chasing him out of the bathroom.

Once the door is closed he slumps against the wall next to it, letting out a shuddering breath. Dear _god_. He's never had _anyone_ play him as expertly as that or invoke that much of a response from him so easily. The setting had certainly made it easier – and god he can _still_ feel traces of moisture on the back of his neck from Aizen's hand – but still. He's seen other people – male _and_ female – naked, wet, and obviously interested before but normally it still takes a good bit of cajoling to get him to be truly interested back. But Aizen…

He shudders and forces himself away from the wall and out of Aizen's room. He can't afford to waste time right now, he'll need all the time he can get to talk with Renji. He banishes all thoughts of arousal or Aizen's naked self from his mind – or tries to, with little success – and quickly makes his way back to the foyer. Renji looks up as he walks in from where he's leaning against the far wall, one eyebrow rising in question.

He inclines his head as the other man straightens up and moves with him. "Please come with me, Abarai-san."

Renji nods and walks over, following him as he backs out of the room. "So," the older man hisses through his teeth, "we still on for six?"

He leads the way down the corridor, going to the first door on the right – not more than twenty feet past the double doors that lead into the entrance hall. He pulls it open and steps aside to let the older man pass, stepping in after him and replying just as quietly, "I'm not sure it's a good idea, Renji."

Renji shoots him a mixed look of aggravation and confusion as he hisses, "Why the hell not? Does he know?"

He gives a miniscule shake of his head, glancing around the room for any cameras and – upon not finding any – closing the door. "I don't think so, but still…" Renji glares at him, moving further into the fairly small room and leaning back against one of the armchairs in the center of it. "I don't agree with his business, you _know_ that, but I agree with his personal practices and I'm pretty sure he's trying to make those into law. I-"

"No!" Renji snaps, shoving off the armchair. "We've come too damn far, Ichigo! It'll all be fucking pointless if we stop now! But after this we can all go home, we can all relax for awhile!"

True enough.

He shoves down the doubts and swallows, meeting Renji's eyes. "Yeah, alright. I'll be back in a minute." He leaves before Renji can respond, trekking his way back down the corridors to Aizen's rooms, as he'd been ordered to do. The halls are still strangely silent and absent of people, and finally he starts to wonder why. The manor is big, enormous even, but not enough so that it should be muffling all noise from everyone in the house. The only theories that make sense are that the walls are soundproofed, Aizen's servants are absurdly quiet, or there's simply no one in the house. Wouldn't that be interesting, if Aizen just _happened_ to not have any of his official staff here on the day they were planning to attack. What a coincidence.

He steps into Aizen's room, noting in the back of his mind – as he turns to close the door – that he can't hear the shower running. The second after that he realizes why. Aizen is coming back out of the walk-in closet beside his bed, black slacks lying low and unbuttoned across his hips – thankfully (or maybe not, he can't decide) with black underwear beneath – and a white dress shirt hanging open on his shoulders. The older man looks up at him as he stares, lips twitching upwards in the smirk he's becoming very familiar with.

"Welcome back." How, exactly, Aizen is capable of doing that _thing_ with his voice where he manages to make everything sound rich and inviting, Ichigo doesn't know. "Abarai is waiting?"

He nods, cautiously moving closer to the lord. "Yes, Aizen-sama."

Aizen's hands move to the buttons on his shirt, doing them up, and a glint of devilish amusement enters his eyes. "Get my pants, would you, Ichigo?" He freezes for a brief moment before forcing himself to give a wordless nod, hating the flush that he can feel stealing into his cheeks. He stops before the lord, head ducking, and has to pause a moment to muster the courage to reach forward and zip up Aizen's slacks, popping the button through.

Why? Why is Aizen capable of turning him into a fucking teenage girl who blushes at any even vaguely sexual thing? For fuck's sake he's twenty-four, he's _long_ past any hint of that stage. Besides, it's not like he's a virgin. Even if he had been when he'd started this whole terrible idea – which he most certainly wasn't since he'd been eighteen at the time – his previous masters had removed any _hint_ of innocence he'd still had left.

Aizen simply should _not_ be able to do this to him. But, he can.

Fuck.

"Why thank you, Ichigo…" Aizen all but purrs, and he has to repress a shudder as he steps away from the lord. "Let's go, shall we? Abarai – if I recall correctly – is not a very patient person." The amusement hasn't left the older man's eyes, Aizen knows damn well what he's doing.

He follows Aizen out the door and back down the corridor – and if he takes this route any more he's seriously going to memorize every aspect of it purely by accident – to the parlor, stepping forward as his first master had taught him – Soi Fon because they were sure she'd train him right – to open the door. Aizen gives him a nod of satisfaction, walks in, and he steps in behind the lord.

Renji stands from where he'd been sitting on the arm of one of the armchairs in the center of the room and gives a low bow. "Aizen-sama, thank you for seeing me despite the lack of notice."

Aizen strides into the center and takes a seat as he follows, moving to stand to the side and behind the lord. "Of course, Abarai. Now, I believe you have a message from your master, don't you?" He watches Renji give the tiniest of flinches, recalling that the older redhead despises being reminded of Byakuya's ownership of him and far superior rank. Must suck to have a lover that quite literally owns you.

"Yes, Aizen-sama. Kuchiki-sama is hosting a celebration of the younger Kuchiki-sama's birthday and sent me to extend an invitation." Rukia, and it is in fact pretty seriously convenient that her birthday provides an opportunity for Renji to come over. Byakuya's planning, no doubt.

Aizen raises an eyebrow. "A call would have sufficed. I'll attend, assuming it's not on a day I already have obligations. Send me the information and I'll inform your master of my answer."

That same tiny flinch before Renji bows, his hair falling loose around his face. "Understood, Aizen-sama. Thank you for receiving me." The redhead gives him a brief glance before moving to the door and leaving the room. The door closes with a soft click.

"Strange, isn't it?" Aizen asks softly, and Ichigo hesitates, unsure of what the lord is talking about. Aizen glances up and back at him and obviously notices his uncertainty, clarifying, "Abarai being Lord Kuchiki's slave. It doesn't make much sense given Kuchiki's personality, don't you think?"

He almost answers yes before realizing he's not actually supposed to know anything about Byakuya. According to his records, he's never even met the lord. "I wouldn't know, Aizen-sama. I've never met Lord Kuchiki, or Abarai-san before today."

Aizen makes a noncommittal noise and beckons him forward with a crook of his fingers. He obeys, rounding the chair to stand in front of the older man. "Closer, Ichigo. I promise not to bite you again unless you ask." Again with the flushing and the embarrassment, he's getting real tired of Aizen managing to make him react like this.

He steps forward and Aizen reaches out with both hands, taking hold of his wrists and tugging him down so he's sitting across Aizen's lap with his knees to either side of the lord's hips. Aizen guides Ichigo's captive hands to rest on the back of the armchair before releasing them and lowering his own hands. The lord watches him with dark eyes, hands moving to slowly caress his thighs. He shivers and Aizen's smirk grows by a fraction.

"Keep your hands there unless I say otherwise." He shivers, heat building at the dark promise in the lord's voice. Aizen's fingers slide beneath the edge of his shirt, feather-light against his skin. "Ask me to stop at any point and I will, and I expect you to actually use that right. I will not punish you for it in any way nor will I ignore you. I have never taken an unwilling partner and I never will, slave or not. Understand?"

He relaxes a fraction, letting his weight fully rest on Aizen's lap as he gives a slight sigh. "Thank you, Aizen-sama." The permission means more than Aizen could know – or maybe he does, the lord seems well-informed from what he's seen – given his other master's take on sex and his role in it.

Aizen's fingers pull away from his skin and up to his shirt, pushing each button through its paired hole. "It is admittedly a point of pride for me that I have never had to use my status to coax anyone to my bed, or whatever other surface or piece of furniture we may end up on. It would be a shame to break that streak, hm?"

He clenches his hands over the back of the armchair at the suggestion in the lord's voice, sharply inhaling as Aizen pops open the last button and traces fingertips across his abs, drawing nonsensical patterns up to his ribs. The lord smirks and leans towards him, pressing lips to the site of the earlier bite, which he's sure – though he hasn't looked – is a fairly red area if not bruised. Speaking of…

"Why did you bite me earlier, Aizen-sama?" he asks, and Aizen pauses for a brief moment and looks up at him. Not that he has to answer, or even acknowledge him really. Aizen is more than allowed to completely ignore his question, or bite him for no reason, or anything else he feels like doing. Instead, Aizen gives a soft hum and straightens, smirk growing.

"Honestly, the thought of you being in front of Abarai with my mark just beneath your clothes was too much of a temptation to resist," the lord murmurs and Ichigo can't help the groan that escapes him. Because god now that he thinks about it, it _is_ a pretty damn arousing thought. Knowing that Renji could have found out at any moment, that a shift of clothes in the wrong direction or a glimpse of his skin could have betrayed the imprint of teeth. It would be humiliating if it actually happened, but up till it does it's just a thrill.

"Also I simply enjoyed your reaction, Ichigo. I'd love to see what _other_ reactions I can pull from you in the course of this evening." He twitches under Aizen's still roaming hands, eyes flickering before the lord's hands slip down to the edge of his black pants and skillfully unfasten the button and zipper in a single movement. Aizen pauses for a brief moment – he assumes to give him time to call a halt if he wanted, which he _so_ doesn't – and then slips a single hand beneath the waistband of his equally black boxers and wraps a hand around his dick. He arches at the contact and his hips buck forward as a quiet hiss slips between his teeth, though he keeps his hands clenched tightly on the back of the chair.

"Ah, there's a good one…" Aizen says softly, other hand slipping around to press against his low back. "But I think we can do better, hm?" The lord's hand twists around him, stroking in a slow but firm pace and he gives a low moan. His head lowers and his eyes squeeze shut, tiny shudders shaking his frame at the insistent pleasure of Aizen's hand.

He hasn't been touched in any way even resembling this in _years_. None of his previous masters had ever cared about his pleasure, only their own. He was a receptacle, a tool, and whether he was satisfied at the end or even enjoyed the procedure was irrelevant. But, of course, he wasn't allowed to touch himself either. It's been years since he got any legitimate pleasure out of anything, and it shows.

It's over almost embarrassingly quickly – minutes – as he jerks and gives a cry of pleasure, bowing forward against Aizen as he spills over the other man's hand. The lord makes a quiet sound of satisfaction, pressing gentle lips to the side of his throat. He twitches as Aizen pulls his hand back out and away from his dick, breathing harshly against the older man's shoulder, and slowly forces his hands to relax their grip on the back of the armchair.

"Much better," Aizen whispers in his ear, the lord's free hand still pressed against his back. He manages to pull through the fog of afterglow and lift his head, raising his eyes to meet Aizen's. The lord's gaze is dark with tightly controlled lust and intense focus, the trademark smirk absent for once.

"Thank you, Aizen-sama."

"Sousuke," his eyes widen in surprise and the smirk returns as the lord's eyes soften a fraction, "in this you are my partner, Ichigo, not my servant. So unless you prefer I behave as a master – which I am perfectly capable of doing – I will treat you as my equal here."

Every time Aizen speaks he finds his resolve being shaken, and it's nerve wracking. "I…" To his utter embarrassment he feels tears gather in his eyes, the sheer _concern_ for his wellbeing and his choices hitting home with perfect accuracy. Aizen's eyes soften and the lord's hand slides away from his back and up to gently stroke through his hair.

"This will _always_ be your choice, Ichigo."

That breaks him. The tears break free, sliding from the corners of his eyes and down his cheeks as he stares at the lord, struggling to come to terms with everything the older man is offering. Even the other rebels, even _Renji_ , who's supposed to be more or less his best friend, hasn't offered him the opportunity to make his own choices in a long time. For years he's been under everyone's thumb, forced this way and that and hurt if he steps out of line. But now Aizen, the man he's supposed to fucking _kill_ tonight, is offering him complete freedom of choice in this, in the one thing that he'd thought for sure was going to be decided for him.

"You can let go, Ichigo," Aizen murmurs, and it takes him a moment to realize that the lord is talking about his arms. He releases the armchair, slowly lowering his arms in a sort of daze. He flinches a little as Aizen's hands come up and gently pull his shirt off, balling it and throwing it to the ground. He's still watching the older man, mind temporarily shut down, as the lord slides a soft hand around the back of his neck and tugs him down. He doesn't struggle, allowing Aizen to pull his head down to rest on the lord's shoulder. He closes his eyes against the white of Aizen's shirt and relaxes, letting his hands rise to grip loose handfuls of the shirt. Aizen's hand cards softly through the short hairs at the base of his skull, fingers light against his skin, and the lord's other arm curls around his back, holding him close.

Ichigo allows himself to float, making no effort to stop the tears and just relaxing in the knowledge that – for the moment – he's safe. There's something that he hasn't had in an even longer time. Being able to really, truly, relax. Not since his mother died and he'd become the true caretaker of the family, since god knows Isshin is totally useless as a father.

The fact that he's more relaxed here – kneeling shirtless in an armchair with a lord that literally owns him and that he's intending to kill before the day is over – than he'd been in his own home or in the bed of the one serious lover he'd taken before all of this started is sad. Sad, but true. He hasn't even superficially relaxed since this whole endeavor had started, not for more than a few brief moments in the slave cells while waiting for a new master to buy him anyway.

But through all of it he's never once cried, not even under Soi Fon's fists or Noitora's many tools of pain. Everyone expected him – the wonder kid who'd flown up the ranks – to handle this easily, to be strong and steadfast under the abuse and the slow destruction of his pride and self-respect. So he was. He took it all and didn't waver, let his masters beat him, humiliate him, tear him apart, and did his very best to hold together under it all. And maybe his head wasn't quite so high and his shoulders were a little bowed, but no one ever noticed.

It's freeing to be able to let the shame and pain he's been holding onto go, lifts weight he didn't know he was carrying from his shoulders. To finally let _someone_ know how deeply all of this has affected him. Even if that person is Aizen.

The tears eventually stop, though he doesn't move for a good few minutes after that and Aizen doesn't make him. Finally he pulls back a little, pushing his hands flat against Aizen's chest to straighten himself up. The lord looks at him with unreadable brown eyes and he can't hold the gaze, dropping his own to rest on Aizen's chest.

"Thank you," he says softly, and he sees Aizen's lips quirk in an equally soft smile from the edge of his vision.

"I know others have hurt you, Ichigo, you don't ever have to hide that from me. I want you just as you are, wounds and faults and everything else, understand?"

He hesitates, doubt heavy in his mind that _anyone_ could truly want him like he is. Shame follows quickly with the knowledge that Aizen doesn't actually know what he's like. He's deceiving the lord, pretending to be something he isn't, and doing it is starting to hurt.

He nods, not looking at the lord, and Aizen gives a soft sigh. "Come on, Ichigo, let's go back to my room." He backs off of the older man and stands, self-consciously refastening his pants as Aizen follows him up. He looks around for his shirt and – finding it on the ground – leans down to pick it up. "You won't want to wear that, it's not particularly clean anymore." He gives Aizen a slightly confused look and the lord smirks and waves his right hand, which is remarkably clean since he specifically remembers coming into it.

Oh…

He straightens back up without touching the shirt and Aizen moves towards the exit after giving a small chuckle. Ichigo follows the lord, trailing behind him as they retrace the by now _very_ familiar route from the front of the house back to Aizen's bedroom. He can't stop looking around the whole way there, dreading the possible outcome of having the first person he sees in the house _all_ day come across them _now_ , while he's shirtless and still has red-rimmed eyes from crying.

When they get back to the room Aizen immediately sheds his shirt, tossing it carelessly on the ground, and proceeds to the bed. He follows with only a mild hesitation in his step which clears up when he recalls Aizen's promise that sex – or the lack of it – will always be his choice.

The lord beckons him closer and then tugs him down to the bed, stroking a gentle hand across his cheek and then through his hair. "Lie down on your side, Ichigo. Nothing you don't want, promise." He nods and obeys, silently enjoying the silk of the sheets against his skin. He's used to much rougher fabrics, and he's _never_ been in contact with silk before.

Aizen follows him down, wrapping one arm over his shoulders to pull him closer and up against the lord. For a moment he's tense before the reality that Aizen won't hurt him kicks in and he eases into it, edging closer and curling into the older man. He closes his eyes as Aizen shifts around him, left arm rising to cushion the lord's head.

"Thank you," he repeats for what must be the third or fourth time in the last hour, and Aizen only gives a quiet chuckle.

"You're welcome, Ichigo. Of course."

He forces down the doubts that rise at Aizen's words, swallowing and reaching inwards for the determination he's so famous among the other rebels for. He's been through all these things, spent almost seven years of his life on this goal, and there's no way he can stop now. If he does it's all pointless, wasted time that he could have been with his family and friends and not stuck in servitude.

Just a few more hours, just until it's six and then it'll all be over.

That thought manages to calm him enough for him to drift to sleep, lulled by Aizen's heartbeat in his ear and the lord's steady breathing. But his first thought when he snaps back awake is panic.

How long has it been? Has the attack come and gone?

The bed is cold, Aizen missing, but when he pushes halfway up from the bed he can see the closed door of the bathroom and the light under it. A glance up at the clock suspended on the wall above the door to the walk-in closet calms the last of his panic.

Five fifty. He hasn't missed it, though any longer and he would have.

The door to the bathroom opens and Aizen enters, white shirt once more covering his chest. The lord looks up at him and gives a small smirk, brown eyes glittering. "Sleep well, Ichigo?"

"Yes, Aizen-sama," he replies, pushing himself up and adjusting to sit on the sheets with his legs folded beneath him.

"Good. I–" The ringing of a phone cuts the lord off and Aizen immediately reaches into the left pocket of his black slacks, retrieving a small cell phone. A touch of the screen cuts the ringing off and Aizen raises it to his ear. "Yes?" Aizen crosses the room to the walk-in closet and opens the door, stepping in. His voice is muffled but still understandable as he answers whoever has called. "Thank you, Ulquiorra. Let me know when things are handled."

The lord reemerges and Ichigo has a brief moment to note that Aizen is holding something decidedly not phone shaped in his right hand before a gunshot deafens him and blinding pain stabs into his right shoulder. He jerks in shock and his eyes widen, gaze falling to his shoulder where there's a fairly small black-edged hole that is beginning to trail blood down his arm. He takes in a shuddering breath, biting back the instinct to cry out in pain. It burns and stings and he grits his teeth against it, left hand falling to brace against the bed as he looks back up at Aizen.

The lord's eyes are cold, void of the warmth and amusement that had been present earlier. The gun in his right hand is held closer to his chest instead of stretched out and his mouth is a flat line. Ichigo realizes at that moment why exactly Aizen is both respected and feared as much as he is. The lord is clearly dangerous, deadly even, and _perfectly_ capable of shooting him right here and now and finishing the job, regardless of any emotion he'd exhibited earlier.

"Your friends are here, Ichigo," Aizen says softly, tone smooth, "Apologies for the wound but I'd rather not risk allowing you even the attempt to kill me."

Despite the sickening shock that accompanies Aizen's words he also relaxes a bit, a breathless laugh escaping him. There's no point in pretending, Aizen obviously knows about their plan. "How long have you known?"

Something flickers in Aizen's eyes, gone before he can identify it, and the lord's lips quirk upwards in a tiny smirk that doesn't reach his eyes. "I picked up the pattern of your master's deaths a few years ago, but I didn't solidify your involvement in it until Noitora. He was killed with a knife, but every employee there that day said that the rebels who attacked were using guns. Your own wound from that day, completely surface though bloody, was from a gun. Sloppy of you."

Fuck. He'd hoped no one had picked up on that. He'd killed Noitora – gleefully he might add, sadistic bastard – before Renji and the others had gotten there, and before he knew that all they had with them were handguns. No one had seemed to notice anything and he was never asked to give a statement due to his status as a slave so he'd assumed they'd overlooked it.

"It's a shame, really. I genuinely like you, Ichigo, and I'm certain I'd like who you really are beneath your mask of subservience a good deal more."

He feels the blood reach his fingertips, undoubtedly soaking into the black sheets. "Who's Ulquiorra?" he asks, and Aizen's smirk grows a tiny bit.

"Head of my security team. As you've undoubtedly noticed the house has been very silent today, that's his doing. We knew you were planning to attack today, but not when until Abarai's visit. Thanks for that information, by the way."

He flinches, confusion hitting him hard. "There weren't any cameras in the parlor."

Aizen gives a slight shrug, the gun unwavering. "Actually, there are, they're simply not readily apparent on a glance. But the recorder I slipped on you when you interrupted my shower is what gave us the information, not the cameras. It's attached to the back of your pants, in case you were wondering."

Damn. "What are you going to do to them?"

The lord chuckles, amusement disrupting the cold surface of his eyes for a brief moment. "Relax, Ichigo. It wouldn't look exceedingly good if I slaughtered the rebels en masse, would it? Your friends will be tranquilized and shipped off to a prison where they will all stand trial for trespassing, illegal ownership of weapons, attempted murder, and the like. I'm sure I can negotiate a lighter sentence than death, though that is the general punishment for attempted murder of a lord."

His eyes close for a brief moment in a wince as he shivers, leaning a little more heavily on his hand. "And me?" He looks back up at Aizen as the lord makes a noncommittal noise, the lord's brown eyes narrowing slightly.

"That depends. I can kill you here, claim self-defense – which isn't necessarily untrue – and pin you as the mastermind of this plot instead of the true organizer. Or, if you no longer have the desire to kill me based on what you've learned today, I can claim a rebel shot you. My word is close to law at this point, no one will question it."

Is Aizen really offering him that? To what, be the lord's slave from here on out if he gives up his goal? Death isn't a great end to this, yeah, but he doesn't think he can stomach being Aizen's slave forever. The whole point of this was to be able to go back to his family at the end. He has this sneaking suspicion that Aizen isn't just going to let him go home.

"Go to hell, Aizen."

Aizen sighs and shakes his head slightly. "Disappointing."

The gun shot doesn't even register in his mind before everything goes black.


	3. Chapter 3

Waking this time is less painful.

His eyes flick open and he stares up at the ceiling, breathing hard. As he moves to roll over, he catches sight of the King still sitting on the chair of energy, golden eyes trained on him. A glance around the room proves it's empty apart from him and the King.

"Where's Aizen?" he asks, pushing himself to his knees and wincing slightly.

The King makes a vague gesture, leaning back. "He still has some more of that life to live. The story doesn't just end with that Ichigo's death."

Ichigo straightens up, getting to his feet and finally remembering what he'd realized just before getting yanked into that second universe. "You're me." The King smirks, raises an eyebrow, and he rushes to clarify. "You said only the people that were meant to _be_ the King _can_ become it, and you don't seem like Aizen so… you must be me."

The King snorts and stands, his golden eyes bright with amusement. "Took you long enough. Aizen came to that conclusion almost instantaneously, but then we both know that he's more or less a genius." The light around the King dims, revealing his features.

He's older, taller, with long orange hair down his back and hard golden eyes. His clothes – an outfit quite similar to Aizen's Las Noches wear but without the overcoat – are plain and the top is tight against his chest, though the pants are loose. A closer look shows signs of the obvious experience this Ichigo has and the things he's been through. There's a thick scar across the right side of his throat, stretching a good three inches, another peeks out near the bottom of the v of his top, and even though this Ichigo practically radiates power, there's a certain exhaustion evident in the set of his shoulders.

"What happened to your Aizen?"

"You can't guess?" the King asks, eyes hardening. "I killed him, permanently. Cut his power out of him and erased his soul from my universe." He can't help flinching, eyes widening, and the King shrugs. "He deserved it. I fought him for the last time fifteen years after the start of the war, in the King's realm after he'd slaughtered Soul Society and turned Karakura into a gaping hole in the ground. He deserved to die, and more besides. It wasn't till after I'd killed him and taken the throne that I found out he was the other half of the King."

The King looks away, brow furrowed. "I missed the chance I had to save everyone in my world, but I can still reset it as if I hadn't, I can still create a universe where things go the right way."

He winces, but any reply he might have had is cut off by a swelling sense of power in the room. A moment later Aizen fades into existence on the ground beside them, completely still until his form completely solidifies, whereupon the traitor's eyes flick open. The brown eyes focus in on them almost instantaneously, and the older man stands, straightening up. There's a shadow in Aizen's eyes, but it's carefully shielded and almost unnoticeable.

"So what happened?" he asks, and Aizen gives a little smirk.

"He lived to a ripe old age and died peacefully in his sleep." The traitor's voice is heavy with sarcasm and Ichigo crosses his arms and scowls.

"Very fucking funny, Aizen."

Luckily the King intervenes before Aizen can respond. "He dies. Renji pretends to be sedated and puts a knife in his heart before being shipped off to prison. All the rebels, including Byakuya, are sentenced to death, which incites even more to their cause, and a civil war breaks out."

The stunned silence from both him and Aizen – and he never expected _Aizen_ to ever be lost for words – is worthy of the thought. An entire state, country, or maybe even world thrown into civil war on the death of two people, the idea is insane. Are they really _that_ important?

"Something similar happens in each world that either one or both of you die in."

He glances at Aizen and finds the older man looking back at him, brown eyes narrowed. After a moment Aizen looks over at the King, gaze intense and searching.

"That world didn't have – as far as we were shown – shinigami or anything resembling them. There's no way the two of us from that world would have become the King in any way."

"You're right. There were no supernatural creatures or beings in that world, only humans. There was no spot for a God or King."

"Then what? Any universe without such a spot is doomed to fail?"

The King shakes his head. "No. If that Ichigo agreed to give up his intent to kill, then that world would have achieved the equivalent of a King. That Aizen was more or less ruler of the country, even if they were supposedly democratic, and with Ichigo at his side – and make no mistake it would be at his _side_ , not behind him – the slave trade was eventually abolished and only legal – _paid_ – servants remained. The world goes an entirely different way if you'd survived."

"So in a world _with_ a spot for a King or God, it's necessary we both ascend to it. But in a world without one, it is only required we work and be together?"

The King hesitates for a moment before nodding. "It's more complicated than that, but in essence, yes."

Aizen makes a soft sound of thought, remains silent for a moment, and then continues. "On a side note, your jab was incorrect."

Ichigo can't help making a noise of confusion, watching the older man. "What're you talking about?"

The brown eyes glance at him before returning to the King. "That universe was based on human standards, and that Kurosaki was older. In this universe he is still a child, and I would _never_ take advantage of that fact in a sexual sense."

Child?! To hell with that!

"I'm seventeen, you bastard!"

Aizen turns to look at him, and he nearly flinches at the irritation in the older man's gaze. "Exactly! You aren't even considered an adult by _human_ standards, let alone by shinigami ones! Whatever burdens the other shinigami have foisted upon your shoulders are irrelevant. You are an idealistic child trying to fight a war you have _no_ business being in, and the fact that the other shinigami have allowed and even encouraged you to do so is sickening. The only reason I didn't kill you on Soukyoku hill was that I knew you had no idea what you were getting into, and I was not cruel enough nor did I have the sufficient lack of morals to kill someone as young as you. If you had been older, you would have died then and there, instead of living and growing enough to be a threat."

He stares wordlessly at the shinigami, anger mixing deep in his stomach along with the knowledge that Aizen is _right_.

He realized a while ago that the idea of him being Soul Society's great savior was a little ridiculous. He doesn't have much idea of the age range of the shinigami, but he remembers Rukia's initial statement that she was much older than he was, and she seems pretty young in terms of shinigami. Even Hitsugaya, who doesn't _look_ more than maybe ten, is old enough to already be a captain, and seems to have been one for awhile. Aging doesn't seem to be consistent among them, so visual appearances are more or less irrelevant, and he can only _guess_ at how old Yamamoto has to be.

"I think that's enough. Don't you, Aizen?" The King's voice is quiet, dark, and when Ichigo glances over, the King's golden eyes are fixed on Aizen, a tiny frown creasing his brow. "In the end age, skill, and potential are all separate matters. Whether a person is seventeen or two hundred and thirty three, they _can_ be equal."

Aizen flinches a little at the number, and he feels his stomach drop. _Two hundred?_ Aizen is that old? No _wonder_ the older man considers him young, he definitely is in comparison.

"I don't think I believe that, King. Age brings experience and wisdom, which will best the rashness and impulsiveness of youth four out of five times."

The King's chin raises a little and his eyes flash in challenge. "I'll prove it with our next stop then. Let's go, Aizen."

Before he can protest, speak, or so much as blink, the world fades to black.

* * *

"Kurosaki-sama?"

He lowers his hand from where he'd pressed it to his head when the white flash had momentarily blinded and disorientated him, turning to face the espada who'd been following him down the white corridor before the strange attack.

"Yes, Grimmjow?"

The blue-haired arrancar watches him, something that he can easily identify as _hunger_ in the other man's gaze. "Feeling alright?"

His mouth curves in a smirk almost automatically, head lowering slightly, even as he keeps his golden eyes trained on the espada. "Just fine," he answers smoothly and steps closer, carefully watching for any hint of threat in the espada's body language, "and why do you ask? See an opportunity?"

Grimmjow answers his smirk with a grin, blue eyes narrowing slightly as they brighten with excitement. "Maybe. You looked a little dizzy there, my _King_."

His left hand flashes out, catching Grimmjow by the throat before the espada can react, and he slams the larger man up against the wall. His reiatsu swirls around him, and he feels his eyes start to bleed black as his hollow slides a little closer to the surface of his mind. Grimmjow gives a choking gasp, but his hands remain at his sides as Ichigo moves closer and presses his body up against the espada's.

"I'm always up for a challenge, Grimmjow. _Are_ you challenging me?"

Grimmjow grins down at him and presses forwards against his hand, the espada's reiatsu rising in response to his own. It's rough and hot where their powers push against each other, intoxicating.

" _Always_."

His hand tightens minutely as he leans forward and bites sharply into Grimmjow's exposed chest, once again thanking whatever personality quirk made the espada pick a half jacket that covers almost nothing. It makes things _so_ much easier, and he gets to look whenever he wants, without demanding the taller man remove his shirt, though he's totally going to give that order someday. Some time when he doesn't have anything to do all day and he can just get Grimmjow to strip down so he can watch the espada do… anything. It doesn't matter.

To be honest, that will probably last all of five minutes before he jumps the taller man, especially if Grimmjow tries to entice him – which he _will_ , arrogant, sexy, bastard. He can never resist the espada, it's a proven fact.

Grimmjow's hands latch onto his coat, tugging in impatient demand, and he gives a snarl and leaves a second bite beside the bleeding imprint of the first before looking up at the espada with a grin.

"My rules, Grimmjow. And I'm not a big fan of sex in the corridor, your exhibitionist tendencies aside."

He releases the espada and steps back, watching Grimmjow raise a hand to rub at his throat. The way back to his rooms after these moments is always interesting. Grimmjow _knows_ his effect, and takes every pleasure in getting him to give in and just fuck the espada in the hallway where anyone can – and usually does – wander by.

It's a hollow thing. Grimmjow is his official consort as King of Las Noches, and the espada likes to remind people of that. How better than to show off in public? Though he will totally admit that the three or four times Grimmjow has convinced him to fuck in the throne room it has been absolutely fantastic. _Especially_ that one time the espada rode him _while_ he was sitting in the throne.

"You know you love it, _King_."

His hollow whispers a suggestion in the back of his mind, and he answers Grimmjow's statement by smirking, flicking his eyes over the espada's form.

"Strip, Grimmjow."

The espada obeys after an absolutely _wicked_ look, shrugging out of the half jacket and letting it fall forgotten to the floor before making equally quick work of the rest of his clothes. Once naked, Grimmjow starts to step forward, but stops immediately at the shake of Ichigo's head.

"On your knees."

Grimmjow's eyes flash with that same hungry look and he slides to the floor, cock heavy against his thigh. Impressive, and bigger than he is, but it doesn't really matter in the scheme of things. He reaches forward and threads his left hand through the espada's blue hair, tugging lightly. Without prompting, the espada's hands come forward and undo his sash and then his hakama, letting them drop to the floor around his ankles.

His cock – since his hollow convinced him a long time ago that going commando was _much_ easier – springs free and Grimmjow leans forward, long tongue coming forward and swiping along his flesh. He stays still despite the burst of pleasure – a certain control over himself came with being with Grimmjow – and the espada's hands press against his thighs as he gives a tiny snarl.

Grimmjow grins up at him and then leans forward and wraps lips around the head of his cock, coaxing a small groan from him at the wet heat. Terrible pun or not, Grimmjow being the sexta is _far_ too fitting. He hisses in a breath through his teeth as the espada pulls him farther into his mouth and then swallows and slides all the way to the base of his cock. He knows Grimmjow can feel the faint tremble of his thighs at the incredible pleasure, that he knows _exactly_ what he's doing. Grimmjow has been his consort for nearly three years, but it only took him about two weeks – once he'd stopped being bitchy about not being allowed to top – to memorize exactly how to please him.

He can't help the moan that leaves his throat as Grimmjow starts to move, withdrawing to suck at the tip of his cock before shoving it deep into his throat. The tongue that knows _just_ where to press and stroke is heavenly and the occasional – totally purposeful – graze of the espada's teeth only adds in a small thrill of danger that just makes it all better.

Grimmjow would never bite him, he knows that, but the teeth are just enough to put the idea in his head, and heighten all his instincts at the potential threat.

The espada hums around him and he gives a sharp cry, hips giving an involuntary thrust forward into the tight suction of Grimmjow's mouth. He closes his eyes, since he _knows_ that if he continues looking at the espada this will all be over far too quickly. He's been at the receiving end of this too many times to think that he can hold together watching Grimmjow work, especially once the espada starts looking up at him with that particular look that always makes him want to throw the espada against the floor, table, bed, or any other nearby and mostly flat surface.

His eyes closing only encourages Grimmjow, as always, and he feels his orgasm start to build as the espada hums again and then slides forward till his nose presses against his crotch. The espada swallows around him and he shudders, so Grimmjow does it again. Flicking his eyes open to look at the espada only worsens it, watching the espada withdraw and then sink – slowly now because Grimmjow knows he's looking – down onto his cock inch by torturous inch. His right hand comes forward without him thinking about it, curling into Grimmjow's hair on the other side of the espada's head, and he tugs at the blue strands in warning.

Grimmjow somehow manages to portray a smirk _around_ his cock – seriously, sexta is too fitting – and then hums deep in his throat and swallows at the same time, tongue stroking along his skin, and sending _way_ too much pleasure to his mind.

He cries out, tightening his grip and dragging Grimmjow forward to keep his cock deep in the espada's throat as he comes. The espada doesn't miss a beat, swallowing repeatedly around him, and he shudders, moaning and leaning forward as his orgasm extends with the movements. He finally loosens his grip on the espada and Grimmjow pulls off him, sending a burst of leftover heat through his body at the sight of his cock slipping out of the espada's mouth.

Grimmjow grins up at him, blue eyes dark with lust. "You want me to redress you, King? Or are you gonna fuck me?"

He recalls the rest of his hollow's suggestion and smirks, letting his nails scratch lightly at the espada's scalp and watching the resulting shiver. "Redress me, thanks."

Grimmjow's grin drops into a flat line in irritation, the lust in his blue eyes being overtaken by the same anger. "Yes, _King_ ," the espada growls, grabbing the hakama around his ankles and carelessly dragging it up, tying it haphazardly before repeating the process with his sash.

He releases the espada and steps back, watching Grimmjow angrily snatch up his clothes, but he intervenes as the taller man starts to put on his half-jacket. "Drop it, Grimmjow." The espada looks up at him, confusion warring with curiosity and irritation. "Stand up and hand me your sash."

Grimmjow hesitates for a second before obeying, dropping all the clothes but his sash and standing. He takes Grimmjow's wrist in his left hand as the espada offers the sash and then takes the piece of cloth with his right. Curiosity overtakes the irritation in Grimmjow's gaze and Ichigo smirks, reaching out and capturing the espada's other hand as well. With several simple movements he ties the black sash around Grimmjow's wrists with a secure knot and then steps back, watching the confusion turn back to lust.

"Let's go, Grimmjow. Like I said, I'm not a fan of sex in the hallways."

Grimmjow grins, sharp canines showing for a moment. "Sure you aren't."

He snorts, though his smirk doesn't fade, and turns his back on the espada, moving down the hallway with the end of the sash held in his right hand. Grimmjow might enjoy being put out for everyone to look at, but Ichigo prefers – even though he knows he's damn fine looking – to keep his body to himself and whoever he decides to sleep with. Usually Grimmjow, but he's dabbled with Szayel and Halibel as well. And of course there was Aizen before Ichigo had left Soul Society, and left the captain of the fifth staring after him with betrayal in his darker brown eyes.

That had been remarkably satisfying. Everyone had assumed that he was just some Rukongai brat with too much power and little to no control over it. Proving them all wrong, proving that he was more than the worthless brat they'd thought he was, was amazing. The day he'd murdered Hitsugaya, used the captain's death as distraction to execute his coup, and then escaped with Gin following him had been the sweetest moment he's ever had. Especially when Aizen had realized.

The shock and betrayal in brown eyes when Aizen had found him standing over Hinamori's corpse – their third seat – and then the realization when Gin had struck had been better than any love the captain had ever tried to show him. Gin had dragged the captain of the fifth's arms behind his back and held them there, safely away from Kyouka Suigetsu, as he approached. He hadn't killed Aizen, but he had left the captain a deep wound across his stomach to keep him down and out of the way. Unohana had healed him later, and Aizen is a thorn in his side even today, but it's worth it. He's more than powerful enough to match Aizen's skill, and he loves toying with the captain.

After all, Aizen had never considered him very capable. The captain had assumed that he was the typical Rukongai brat – powerful but not very intelligent, and _certainly_ not capable of going any higher than a vice-captain's role – and had treated him like it. He'd had plans to turn against Soul Society for a long time, ever since he'd found out that the hougyoku – Urahara Kisuke's wayward invention – had been implanted in his soul, and he had a rather insistent and _very_ illegal hollow side as a result of that, but Aizen had only solidified those plans. _Especially_ after the captain had approached him for a relationship, though that word really belongs in quotation marks.

It couldn't be public, since relationships between high ranking shinigami were restricted, which meant it came down to Aizen asking to fuck him. And he agreed, because why not have some fun before he left? It was after that he realized that apparently he was good enough for Aizen to fuck, and to be trusted with the rank of vice-captain, but not good enough to be taught how to control his power. He wasn't good enough in his own captain and – supposedly – lover's eyes to be worth training, even though it was a well-known fact that he had a good amount of power. Aizen only ever saw him as one of the unfortunate Rukongai kids, and that was driven home with all the force of one of Zaraki'spunches when Aizen introduced him to Gin and expected them to be perfectly alright with the idea of a threesome.

For the sake of his image he'd agreed, and in doing so had met one of his most trusted lieutenants. In Gin he found a fellow Rukongai brat that had been more or less raised by Aizen, and had eventually – far past when he rightfully _should_ have – become a captain completely on his own.

It had been Gin who taught him to control his power, taught him the finer aspects of kidou, taught him all the dirty tricks of fighting and sat with him and helped him control his hollow. Gin didn't – doesn't – have one, he isn't a vizard, but he knew enough to help.

By the time they'd escaped here he knew the basics of how to use the hougyoku hidden in his soul, and he used that knowledge – combined with his massive store of raw power – to fill in the ranks of the espada. Stark had already been here, though he wasn't officially a part of any kind of command structure, and Baraggan had reluctantly – read, at the point of his sword – stepped down as King and given him the throne.

In Las Noches both Gin and he had found a home. The arrancar didn't care where you were from or what you'd done in your past; they only cared about power and freedom. He's strongest, so he's King, and the espada bend to his rule. Grimmjow is the most loyal of his subjects, for obvious reasons, but Stark and Ulquiorra come in as second and third with only a narrow margin.

For the most part, the entirety of Las Noches is pretty damn loyal to him, if only for his practices. He knows what it's like to be discriminated against, as does Gin, so they treat the arrancar just like any other shinigami or human. It also probably helps that he's technically not much different than them.

"So, you in a bondage kinda mood then?"

He looks back at Grimmjow, who's walking after him with a giant grin and narrowed blue eyes.

"Haven't decided yet," he answers truthfully, returning the grin.

"Whatever you want, King. You know I'm good with anything." The espada pauses, grin drooping a little, and then corrects, "Almost anything."

He can't help snorting, recalling the night that Grimmjow is referencing. The espada is not fond of water, due to quirks of hollow instincts, and had not much appreciated that particular dominance game. Which Grimmjow had made clear by hissing and cursing and clawing some pretty big slices into Ichigo's arms.

"Yeah, yeah. No more hoses, I remember."

He turns his head and notes with pleasure that they're only two or three minutes away from his rooms. Which, as King of Las Noches, are pretty damn comfortable. Better than Grimmjow's, at any rate, even though the espada's quarters aren't bad either. Honestly though, Grimmjow practically lives in his rooms; the espada claims it makes things easier. True enough.

"Shouldn't have done it in the first place."

His hollow stirs at the irritated tone and he gives a small snarl as he glances back at Grimmjow, warning him not to push the issue. "Keep bitching and I'll make you pay for it, Grimmjow. You know I will."

The espada grins back at him. "That's half the fun, _King_."

He snorts again and pulls Grimmjow up with a harsh tug on the sash as they reach the doors to his room. The espada moves to open it without prompting, shoving it open with his hip once he's turned the knob, and beckons him with his bound hands as he backs into the room. He smirks and follows, letting the door fall closed behind them as he follows the espada into the room, letting the sash hang loose between them. Grimmjow has other ideas, taking the sash in his hands and reeling him closer. He goes along with it, letting the taller man pull him closer, and reaches up once he's close enough to wind his left hand around the back of Grimmjow's neck and tug him down.

He kisses the espada, though as usual with them it's more a clash of tongue and teeth then any kind of proper kiss, and gives a tiny shiver at tasting a faint trace of his own release. Earlier orgasm or not, he's ready to go again. In the scale of 'things that are arousing,' knowing that someone else has swallowed down his release is pretty high up there. Especially Grimmjow, since he knows the espada does it gladly and thoroughly enjoys making him lose control like that. In fact, Grimmjow has admitted to him that it's really a tossup whether he prefers swallowing Ichigo's cum or having him release it over his face and chest. That particular admission had gotten him jumped on in a fit of hair trigger arousal, and the fact can still make him hard just from thinking about it.

Grimmjow's bound hands drop and palm the front of his hakama, stroking his cock through the fabric, and he gives a low growl into the kiss to warn the other off. He's already had his orgasm, and both his hollow instincts and his own morals demand that he please Grimmjow in return. Dominant – in his mind – doesn't mean he gets to sit back and make Grimmjow do all the work, it means that he's responsible for making sure the espada is satisfied, even above his own satisfaction. Though he could probably be satisfied just jacking off after driving Grimmjow into exhaustion, it's that nice to watch the taller man lose his mind.

"On the bed," he snarls against Grimmjow's mouth as he reaches down and unties the knot holding the espada's hands together. The sash falls to the ground and Grimmjow grins, stepping back and giving him a final look of excited lust before turning to walk to the bedroom. He follows, watching Grimmjow's ass as the espada moves ahead of him.

Grimmjow moves to the bed – large, soft, and covered in black sheets – and slides onto it on his back. He moves to stand above the espada, eyes darting over the flesh on display, and smirks. He crawls over the taller man, shedding his overcoat with a shrug of his shoulders and throwing it to the ground next to the bed. He does the same with the skintight white shirt beneath it, pulling it over his head and then discarding it.

He's just leaning down, moving to set his teeth against Grimmjow's throat, when his senses go off in warning. He stiffens and feels Grimmjow do the same, closing his eyes so he can focus in on the tear in space that's just opened outside Las Noches and, specifically, the reiatsu signatures coming out of it.

Kuchiki, Tousen, and – of _course_ – Aizen. There are two vice-captains with them that he identifies as Isane and Hisagi, but they barely register next to the three captains.

Grimmjow growls in irritation and he almost echoes the espada as he reopens his eyes and straightens up. "Fucking bastards. Worst _fucking_ timing."

He grunts in agreement and shoves off the bed, moving to retrieve his clothes from the floor and slip them back on. While he does agree with Grimmjow, excitement is also bright in his chest. Aizen is always fun to mess with, and he can't help relishing each chance he gets to prove to the older man that he'd been vastly underestimated. When he looks up, he catches Grimmjow watching him with clear irritation in his gaze, lying on his side and making no move to stand.

"What?" he asks, and Grimmjow's eyes narrow a little further.

"Aizen," the espada says bluntly, "every time he shows up you run off to fight him. Stark could handle him _just_ fine. Or you could just fucking _kill_ him, you're strong enough to beat him into the ground if you really wanted to."

He doesn't immediately answer, the accusation hitting home, and Grimmjow slides to his feet with mouthwatering grace. "I get playing with a victim. Whatever, it's fun. But this is deeper than that, and it's fucking irritating! _I'm_ your consort, not that bastard."

It clicks with stunning clarity. Grimmjow is jealous. Rightfully so, he supposes, he _does_ keep dropping the espada whenever Aizen shows up. "It isn't like that, Grimmjow, it's just proving I'm more than he thought I was."

Grimmjow snorts and looks away, stalking to the closet and angrily yanking a spare set of his uniform out of it. "Whatever."

He watches the espada for a moment before an _idea_ takes hold that makes his hollow laugh in amusement. "Grimmjow, do you want to fuck him?" The espada freezes for a moment and then looks back at him, eyes wide.

It actually works much better than it sounds. For humans – or shinigami – it would just be some kind of threesome, but it's different for hollows. Grimmjow had more or less accused him, as his consort, of preferring someone else to him. By offering the espada the chance to top the person Grimmjow is accusing him of liking better, he's reinforcing Grimmjow's position in his priorities. Plus he gets to watch the two men he's ever been most attracted to, which is just a giant bonus.

Grimmjow's mouth slowly curves into a grin. "You mean that, King?" He nods and Grimmjow laughs, eyes bright with amusement. "Then fuck yes."

He returns the grin and moves to the corner of the room where both Grimmjow's and his swords are leaning – they'd left them there for a meeting – and picks Zangetsu up, hooking it over his back. "Then go to Szayel, he's been making a power restraint powerful enough for Aizen, and then give it to Gin. We'll make sure to get him with it." He flashes a smirk at the espada as he approaches the door, enjoying the flex of muscle in the still mostly naked espada. "Meet you back here, Grimmjow."

He turns and leaves, Ulquiorra and Gin are waiting outside. The former is his normal silent self, but Gin is nearly vibrating with excitement, though the only visible effect of it is the way his fingers are flickering against the outside of his thighs. Ulquiorra bows and Gin gives a mocking little tilt of his head.

"Wha's the call, Ichi?" Gin is the only person who gets away with calling him that, ever.

He smirks and glances in the direction of the slowly approaching group of shinigami. "Gin. You, me and Stark go in first. I'll drive Aizen one direction, you drive Kuchiki the opposite, and Stark will occupy Tousen. Once we have them separated, Ulquiorra, I want you to take care of Kuchiki to free up Gin. Gin, if you can, try and kill off Tousen and then come join me. Grimmjow will find you and give you the power restraint Szayel's been making, if you haven't finished Tousen by then, leave him to Stark. We'll kill the other two and catch Aizen, sound good?"

Ulquiorra nods and Gin snickers, his ice blue eyes slitting open. "Still want t' play with dear Aizen, Ichi?"

He shrugs and grins. "Can't help it. Ulquiorra, get Noitora to take care of the vice-captains, and call Halibel if you need any help with Kuchiki. I don't want my espada dying for pride's sake, understand?"

"Yes, Kurosaki-sama."

"Good, let's go."

He sets off with shunpo, Gin at his heels, and feels Ulquiorra break off to track down and gather the espada he'd named. Distantly, he feels the shinigami pause, obviously sensing their movement, and has to grin. It's not the first time the shinigami have tried to invade Las Noches, though usually it's him conducting raids on Soul Society that has them fighting, but it's the first time that they haven't brought either Kyouraku or Ukitake. Now _they're_ a challenge, especially together. The one time he'd fought them both at the same time was the closest he'd ever come to dying, and it was on the very first raid he'd ever pushed into Soul Society. They work together with _amazing_ precision and synchronization, centuries of experience making them a team that is absolutely terrifying on the battlefield, and it had very nearly killed him before Gin had joined the fight and they'd beaten a hasty retreat back to Las Noches. He's probably powerful enough now to fight them, but he still won't ever do it without backup.

He skids to a stop, after four or five minutes travel, on the sands outside Las Noches, and Gin stops besides him. He can feel Stark traversing Las Noches to get to them, and Ulquiorra is just approaching Noitora and Halibel.

"So Ichi, what're ya gonna do with Aizen once ya got 'im?"

He gives a little shrug and looks over at the ex-captain. "Grimmjow's a little jealous, so I promised him the chance to fuck him. You want second go?"

Gin laughs and shakes his head a little. "Yer a cruel bastard, ya know tha'?"

The amusement that swells with the accusation is almost immediately tempered with sharp bitterness, memories rising of Aizen's casual invitation to a threesome and the way he'd just _assumed_ that since they were Rukongai brats they'd have no issue with it.

"He deserves it, Gin. You know that as well as I do."

Gin's grin wavers and the older man gives a little snort, looking back out at the sands. "Yeah, 'e does. Sure, a'll take secon' go. Any rules?"

"Don't kill him," he answers as Stark blurs into sight at the edge of his vision, "when this is all over _I_ want to be the one who kills him." Gin gives him a tiny salute and he turns to Stark, eyes passing over Lilinette, standing just behind the espada. "Understand what we're doing, Stark?"

The espada nods and stifles a yawn behind his hand as Lilinette bounces forwards, hands on her hips. "Yeah! We're going to kick that blind shinigami's ass!" She pauses and then bows her head a little, a flush covering her cheeks. "King."

He gives a small smirk and nods, lifting his gaze to Stark. "I don't have to tell you to protect her." The espada shakes his head, grey eyes serious, and they both ignore Lilinette's outraged shrieks as she protests that she doesn't _need_ protecting. "Good. Kill him quickly, watch out for his bankai. Let's go."

He turns and takes off, his two lieutenants – and Lilinette – at his heels, and zeros in on the group of shinigami, drawing Zangetsu from across his back. They've stopped where they are, undoubtedly sensing them approaching, and with a careful sweep of his senses he notices that the shinigami are arranged just _perfectly_ for their plan. Aizen to the left, Kuchiki to the right, and Tousen in the center with the vice-captains behind them. How nice of them.

He shares a quick glance with Gin as the ex-captain pulls up next to him and grins, one final step taking him into the center of the shinigami's group as he turns. Gin and Stark land almost simultaneously, and time seems to slow for a single instant as his legs bend against the sand and he twists to face Aizen. It slips back to normal as he leaps at the captain, Zangetsu flashing out to drive him backwards. He hears metal clash behind him and feels Gin push Kuchiki backwards, the ex-captain's fighting style _far_ too close for the noble to cope.

He focuses in on Aizen, slipping around and inside his guard and relishing the icy anger in the captain of the fifth's brown eyes. Aizen tries to get around him, back to his fellow captains, but he easily blocks off the older man with a few well-placed ceros. He forces Aizen back across the sand, smirking in victory as he feels Ulquiorra and Halibel join Gin's fight. The noble falls almost instantaneously, reiatsu dropping to nothing, and Gin takes off towards Tousen.

Worry flashes in Aizen's eyes and the captain stills, sword at his side and staring across the six or seven feet separating them. He humors the captain, Zangetsu's tip touching the sand, and watches the older man. Aizen winces as Tousen runs and the feel of a gate being opened echoes across the sands.

"I don't suppose you'll allow me to leave, will you Kurosaki?"

He snorts, feeling Tousen enter the gate with the two vice-captains entering just after. A second after, he feels Grimmjow settle next to Gin, both them and Stark sitting in front of the opened gate. "You can try. But I gotta say, the chances of you getting past me, Gin, Stark, and Grimmjow before that gate closes are pretty much nonexistent."

"True enough," the captain murmurs, brown eyes narrowed. A fraction of a second later, Aizen launches forwards and he reacts automatically.

He leans to the right as he brings Zangetsu up, recognizing desperation in Aizen's tactic. Kyouka Suigetsu leaves a long scratch along the side of his throat as Zangetsu slides deep into Aizen's shoulder. He shoves forward and buries Zangetsu in the sand, pinning the captain against the ground on his back, immediately putting a foot on the captain's right wrist to keep it and the sword it's holding immobile.

The gate slams shut and Gin moves towards them as the espada head back to Las Noches. Aizen glares up at him, brown hair lying in his eyes. "So now what, Kurosaki?"

He smirks, glancing over at Gin as the ex-captain slips into view. There's a splash of blood across the cloth of his right sleeve but the lack of a tear declares that it isn't his. "We get to have some fun. Gin?"

The taller man's grin twitches upwards and Gin approaches, leaning over and obscuring his vision for a moment. There's a metallic click and then Aizen cries out in pain, his reiatsu abruptly vanishing. It's almost a shame, he's always enjoyed feeling the smooth silk of the captain's reiatsu against his own, but it's necessary. Grimmjow is powerful, but not enough to handle Aizen without a handicap. Kyouka Suigetsu vanishes, and as Gin straightens up he gets to see the black power restraint circling Aizen's throat. He yanks Zangetsu back out of the ground and Aizen's shoulder and the captain pales, muscles in his neck and jaw straining.

"Le' me know when yer done, Ichi." Gin all but purrs as he turns to leave, and then steps out of sight with shunpo.

He sheathes Zangetsu across his back and leans down, gripping the collar of Aizen's uniform and dragging the captain to his feet. "Let's go, Sousuke."

The captain glares at him, straightening and making no move to try and make him let go. "I would prefer you not use my first name," Aizen grinds out stiffly, and he smirks.

"I know; it's why I do."

He takes off with shunpo before the captain can respond, dragging Aizen behind him as he makes his way back to his rooms. He can feel Grimmjow waiting there, and arousal strikes him hard at the idea of what's about to happen. He skids to a stop in front of the door and it opens within a few seconds, Grimmjow standing there in his uniform.

The espada grins and steps back, allowing him to walk in with the collar of Aizen's uniform still clenched in his hand to pull the captain with him. The door clicks shut behind them and he releases the captain, turning to face both Aizen and Grimmjow. The captain is clearly wary, brown eyes narrowed and blood staining almost his entire right side where it's leaked from his wound. On the contrary, Grimmjow looks almost ecstatic, grin wide and blue eyes bright.

"He's all yours, Grimmjow."

Aizen's eyes widen for a moment, flashing to the espada, and Grimmjow's eyes narrow as he stares the captain down. "Please tell me you're gonna fight me, Aizen."

The captain hesitates, shooting him a glance. "I suppose that depends on what is going to occur."

Grimmjow lashes out, wrapping his left hand around Aizen's throat and his right taking a fistful of the captain's gi, forcing Aizen to his knees. Grimmjow leans down, hand tightening a fraction around the captain's neck and even from several feet away Ichigo can hear the hitch of breath.

"I'm gonna fuck you. Rough, repeatedly, until you fucking _beg_ me to stop. You gonna fight me, captain?"

There's a moment of silence before Aizen relaxes, lips twisting in a tight smirk. "No. What chance would I have?"

Grimmjow laughs and releases the captain, stepping back. "You know," the espada comments, looking over at Ichigo, "I can't decide whether that's better or not." He looks back over at Aizen, who's watching him with a wary acceptance. "Bedroom's through that door," he nods at the door and Aizen's eyes flick towards it, "strip and get on your hands and knees on the bed."

He can't help the arousal that builds in his gut as Aizen obeys, shrugging carefully out of his captain's coat and gi before undoing the straps for and stepping out of his hakama, socks, and shoes. There's a moment where Aizen stands tall and Grimmjow sweeps his gaze over the captain's body – which is _quite_ nice, no argument possible – before Aizen turns and strides towards the mentioned door. As the captain disappears Ichigo breathes out a shaky breath, the reality of this crashing down.

He looks over at Grimmjow, who returns his gaze. "When this is done, I'm fucking you into the ground. Just so you know."

Grimmjow laughs and moves towards the door, dropping his half jacket to the ground on the way. He pauses for a moment, collecting himself, before following. Aizen, as ordered, is on his hands and knees on the bed and Grimmjow is kneeling behind him, hands on the captain's hips. He has to freeze for a moment at the image before continuing across the room. He climbs onto the bed beside the two and stretches out, resting his head on one of the pillows at the head of the bed and looking down at the other two men. Aizen watches him, eyes holding some measure of acceptance mixed with a sharp anger.

Whatever, Aizen more than had his chance.

"Will you be joining us, Kurosaki?" the captain asks tightly, and he smirks.

"Why? Miss me, Sousuke?" He glances up at Grimmjow, who's watching him with narrowed eyes, and then shakes his head. "No, I won't. Not unless Grimmjow wants me to. I promised him this, I won't interfere."

Grimmjow grins over the captain's shoulder and his right hand slips off the captain's hip. He can't see, but he assumes by Aizen's sharply drawn in breath and the stiffening of the captain's muscles that Grimmjow has slipped fingers inside him. A few moments later there's a shuffle of fabric and he sees Grimmjow's hakama drop, the espada's hand returning to Aizen's hip.

Aizen gives a sharp cry of pain, head bowing, as Grimmjow snaps his hips forward. The espada groans and leans forwards over the brunette's back, biting hard into the top of his shoulder. He has to stop himself from pushing off the bed and putting a mirrored bite on the captain's other shoulder, claiming him in tandem with Grimmjow. He can't help hissing out a breath between his teeth though, left hand curling into the sheets to restrain himself.

Grimmjow looks up, blood staining his teeth and lips, and does something with his hips that makes Aizen shudder and slam his eyes shut, teeth baring in a grimace. Grimmjow straightens up and he watches the taller man set up a rhythm, withdrawing and then slamming deep inside the captain. True to the espada's word it's rough, rougher than Ichigo's _ever_ taken Grimmjow, but Aizen is silent under the onslaught. Pain is clear in the furrow of his brow and the tenseness of his shoulders and neck, but no sound escapes the captain.

In spite of his desire to see Aizen pay, he can't help respecting the older man. He doesn't think he'd be able to maintain the same level of control that Aizen is exhibiting, especially not with the large wound through his shoulder. It's still bleeding, slowly, dripping the red fluid onto his sheets and mixing with the blood beading on the bite wound from Grimmjow and the blood – which he can just barely see from this angle – sliding down the captain's thighs.

Aizen's left hand curls into the sheets, head lowered, and Ichigo raises his gaze to Grimmjow. The espada's head is thrown back, fingers and sharp nails digging in hard enough to leave red crescents on the captain's hips. He swallows thickly, watching the muscles work and flex under Grimmjow's skin as the espada speeds his thrusts. Grimmjow finally shudders and gives a few irregular movements before pushing in deep and leaning back down over Aizen as he snarls out his release and bites into the back of the captain's neck.

Aizen flinches and hisses out a breath, a shudder wracking his frame. Grimmjow gives a deep groan and pushes himself up, releasing the captain and shoving him flat against the bed with a powerful push. Aizen breathes deeply next to him, eyes sliding open and head twisting to look back at Grimmjow. The captain is still wary, and obviously in pain, but not scared. Grimmjow flashes the captain a grin, crawling up the bed and plopping himself down between Aizen and Ichigo with his arms crossed under his head.

"How about you clean me up, _captain_?" he drawls, and Aizen stiffens a fraction. There's clear disgust in his eyes but he pushes himself up regardless, relocating himself between the espada's legs.

He has a brief moment of wondering if Grimmjow's lost his mind, since Aizen is most certainly not friendly, and it takes a certain amount of insanity to shove your dick in someone's mouth if there's a chance they'll bite it off. But just after that he relaxes again, watching Aizen put his left hand on Grimmjow's hip as he leans down, tongue sliding out to stroke along the mostly limp penis smeared with blood and traces of seed. Arrancar skin, but especially the espada's because of their power level, is exceedingly tough thanks to their hierro. Without his reiatsu, Aizen has about as much chance of biting through it or so much as _scratching_ it as he does going toe to toe with Zaraki and coming out completely unscathed.

Grimmjow reaches down with his right hand and curls it through Aizen's brown hair, tugging at it. "Come on, bastard." Aizen shoots Grimmjow a nasty look but takes the espada's dick in his mouth, eyes closing as he sucks against it.

He swallows again, never having even _imagined_ Aizen in a position like he is now, and catches Grimmjow watching him. The espada grins and then reaches over with his left hand, wrapping it around the back of his neck, and drags him closer. He kisses the espada, sliding his own left hand to press the espada's shoulder into the bed, and gives a quiet growl at the demanding hold on his neck. He breaks off the contact, nipping at Grimmjow's lower lip, and then lowers his head and bites sharply into the side of the espada's throat. Grimmjow moans and jerks a little, prompting a slightly choked noise from Aizen, and he pulls back, licking the slight traces of blood off his teeth.

Grimmjow releases him and moves that hand down to join his other one in Aizen's hair, giving a small grin before bucking his hips up into the captain's mouth. He moves away, back to his position against the bed, and watches Grimmjow fuck the captain's mouth. Aizen, to his credit, takes it without much complaint, only a firm press of his left hand against the espada's hip and the stiffness of his shoulders voicing his displeasure.

He watches with heat as Grimmjow arches his neck back – barely resisting the urge to lay another bite on the exposed flesh – and uses Aizen's lips and throat for his own satisfaction, sounds of pleasure slipping from the espada's mouth. It's an amazingly arousing spectacle seeing Aizen, who had never so much as hinted at letting him top at any point, being forced into a submissive role. He's almost saddened he hadn't brought Gin along, he's sure the ex-captain – one of Aizen's previous Rukongai toys – would have enjoyed the sight just as much.

Grimmjow eventually gives a breathless laugh and tightens his grip in Aizen's hair. "Swallow or choke, fucker." Aizen's eyes snap open, refusal clear in his gaze, but Grimmjow drags him down and forces his cock into the captain's mouth to the base, holding him there as he arches and gives a long drawn-out moan.

He shudders, watching Aizen's throat work as the captain obviously decides he'd rather breathe, and can't help the groan of denied pleasure that leaves his throat. Grimmjow looks over at the noise and grins at him, probably because he's pretty damn sure that the lust he's feeling is clear in his eyes. The espada releases Aizen and the captain backs off, irritation clear in his eyes though he wisely doesn't say anything.

Aizen wipes a hand over his mouth and Grimmjow laughs, returning his hands to beneath his head. "Enjoy the taste, _captain?_ "

Aizen opens his mouth and then snaps it shut again, and Ichigo can't help but snort. "Finally learned to keep your speeches to yourself, huh? There's a change."

The captain glares at him, eyes narrowed. "What have I done to deserve your hatred, Kurosaki?"

He stiffens for a moment, aware of Grimmjow watching him with curiosity out of the corner of his eyes. He pushes up to sitting, moving to sit cross legged, and stares the captain down. "The fact you don't know is what makes it hatred rather than dislike, Sousuke. That you honestly can't understand the way you treated me," his hands clench and he feels Grimmjow shift closer and sit up, looking over his shoulder, "I decided I hated you when you introduced me to Gin and then expected the both of us, since we were both from Rukongai and naturally that meant we were loose and cheap, to be completely alright with a threesome. We knew each other for three fucking minutes before you asked and didn't even _consider_ that we might not like the idea.

"Apparently I was good enough for you to fuck and good enough to apparently ' _love,'_ but not enough for you to, I don't know, train me? You knew damn well I had more power than I knew what to do with and not enough control over it, but you just fucking left me to figure it out on my own! You assumed that I was too much of a Rukongai brat to ever want to be able to do anything but hack and slash at something until it died, that I wouldn't ever want to know control or kidou or any of those other useful things."

He moves away, ignoring the captain's wide eyes, and gets off the bed. "Whatever. I'm sick of it and you." He looks over at Grimmjow and shrugs, resentment eating at his heart. "Do whatever you want, then call Gin. I'm done with this."

He strides out of the room before either man can comment, shoving open the door to the corridor and then leaping into shunpo. He runs without direction for awhile, through corridors, under Las Noches' fake sky, and then out to Hueco Mundo's desert. It isn't until he's miles away from the white dome that he slows and stops on one of the many sand dunes, glancing back at the still quite prevalent form of Las Noches.

The resentment and bitterness is easier with Aizen out of sight, and he takes a few moments to silently mourn the loss of what would have been a truly great fuck with Grimmjow once the espada was done with Aizen. Not now, not when all trace of arousal has fled his mind and groin. He'll be lucky if he can even face the espada after that particular spew of words. In the end, Grimmjow doesn't know – and has never asked – about his past, and throwing that much of himself in front of the espada without warning or thought probably wasn't a good idea.

He sighs and scuffs a foot against the sand beneath him, Zangetsu heavy against his back. He doesn't particularly want to go back to Las Noches, not yet anyway. He needs time to recompose himself and pull back the front of _King_ that the arrancar know. It's never a good idea to show any kind of weakness in front of even the regular arrancar, let alone the espada. They follow him because he's strong, and if that slips then he'll be dead meat. Or at least swamped under _way_ too many challenges to get anything else done.

He fought for this spot once; he doesn't particularly want to do it again.

Eventually – after hours of wandering the sands and a bit of meditation that nearly puts him to sleep – he does head back to Las Noches. He moves cautiously back into his rooms, where he can feel Grimmjow, and finds the espada passed out on the couch – fully dressed – in the 'living room.' He closes the door softly behind him and passes by the espada to his bedroom and through that to the bathroom.

He catches sight of himself in the mirror that stretches across one wall, turning his head to see the leftover proof of the one cut that Aizen had managed to inflict on him. The left side of his neck is moderately covered in blood, part of his collar soaked with it, but he can tell with just the passing glance that the cut is practically already healed. Perks of being part hollow – or at least, perks of his _specific_ hollow – he has increased healing speed. That's just a small part of the whole package deal, but for the most part it's all a good thing.

He steps towards the sink, turning it on – he's not sure he wants to know where Szayel gets the water for these – and cupping a handful of water. He splashes it on his neck, doing a lazy job of cleaning away the blood, and then switches the sink back off and steps away, turning towards one of the towels hanging on a rack on the wall. He swipes the rest of the blood away, leaving the towel stained red and pink where it's mixed with the water, and then drops the piece of cloth to the ground.

Where the people who clean his rooms come from or how exactly they get in he doesn't know, but at least they're efficient. By morning – or Hueco Mundo and Las Noches' version of it – the towel will be gone, without a trace he'd ever used it, and there will be a new one in its place.

"You alright?"

He twists his head to fix on Grimmjow, standing at the door. The espada still looks tired, mildly sleep fogged, but his blue eyes are soft and vaguely concerned.

"Yeah, I'm good. Better once I slit Aizen's throat."

While any human, or shinigami, would have gasped or lectured or something similar, Grimmjow only yawns. "Good. I'm headed back to sleep."

The espada turns and ambles out, stretching long arms over his blue hair, and he can't help giving a tiny smirk at the sight. There's something strangely pleasant about having a lover who doesn't bat an eye at his homicidal tendencies. He knows damn well that he could slaughter dozens or even hundreds of people in front of Grimmjow and the espada wouldn't care. Well, he might be pissed that he didn't get to help.

They're both a little psychotic now he thinks about it.

He straightens up as, on the edge of his awareness, Gin's reiatsu approaches his rooms. With a tiny sigh he heads out through the bedroom – Grimmjow already peacefully collapsed on the bed – and steps outside and into the white corridors just as Gin pops into view.

The ex-captain aims that never ending grin at him, only slits of his ice blue eyes visible. "Ya ready ta take yer revenge, Ichi?"

"More than," he agrees, and Gin turns to start down the corridor, pausing to allow him to step up to the taller man's side.

"So? Fas' or slow?"

At the moment he can't quite stomach the idea of drawing out Aizen's death. He just wants it over, done with. "Fast. I won't make any effort to make it painless, but it'll be fast."

Gin gives a small nod, maybe of approval, and leads the way right at the next intersection towards the throne room. "Goo'. Soul Society after?"

"Yeah. Pull together the espada, fraccion, and the ex-espada along with whatever arrancar you think could be useful. If we can, I'd like to try wiping them out while they're still grieving for their captains."

Gin laughs and pushes open one side of the massive double door with a single hand, stepping aside to let him past. "Yer still cruel, Ichi."

He snorts and walks in, hearing the door boom shut behind him as Gin releases it. "At least I'm efficient about it." His eyes fall to Aizen, kneeling in the center of the room – clothed once more though a little bloodier than he had been – with his arms bound behind his back. The captain's head is bowed forward, black restraint still clasped tightly around his throat.

He draws Zangetsu and steps around Aizen, stopping in front of him. The captain looks up at him, blood trailing from one corner of his mouth and eyes betraying a deep exhaustion mixed with heavy pain. "Anything to say, Sousuke?"

The captain huffs out a breath, voice strained and rough when he speaks. "I apologize for the way I treated you, Kurosaki. The reason I did not offer training was because I thought you would not accept help, not because I believed you did not wish to control your powers. I'm sorry."

He pauses, digesting the apology, and then gives a tight smile. "Too little, too late."

A flex of muscle, lifting Zangetsu into the air and sending it flying forwards, and just like that Aizen is dead. His head flies up a moment before hitting the ground with a wet splat, and a few seconds after that both the head and the body begin to dissolve into spirit particles with a soft blue light. He watches till no trace of the captain remains except the still closed black power restraint lying on the ground, then slings Zangetsu onto his back and heads past it towards Gin, standing at the door.

He doesn't feel better, necessarily, but he feels lighter, and that's good enough for him. "Gather the espada, Gin."

It's twenty minutes before Gin and Ulquiorra manage to collect all the arrancar and espada being brought along on their invasion, and ten more after that before they're actually ready to go. He stands outside Las Noches, holding open the gaping gargantua that they'll all be running through in a moment, and turns his eyes to Gin and Grimmjow, standing beside him.

"Are we ready?" he asks, and they both nod almost simultaneously. He grins and turns to the gathered arrancar, who look back at him with excitement and – in a very few cases – apathy. "LET'S GO!" he shouts and they surge forward into the gate within an instant. He follows, easily outdistancing the rest of them though he does his best not to get _too_ far ahead of his troops, and is the first to exit out of the other side, high above Soul Society.

He pauses there, drawing Zangetsu, and waits for the rest of the arrancar to come through. They do, scattering to the four winds and announcing their arrival with explosions and battle cries. But something isn't right. The reactions are there, two or three captains diving into battle along with a host of smaller shinigami, but he can't feel the rest of them. He lets the gargantua fall shut behind them, Gin pausing at his side even as Grimmjow leaps down into the thick of things.

"It isn't just me, right Gin?" Gin shakes his head and looks around, drawing his small sword – Shinsou – from its sheath.

A moment later, as reiatsu swells thick and powerful and all around them, he understands. He jerks the gargantua open, screaming for a mass retreat, but he already knows it's too late. Before his arrancar can comprehend or he can so much as turn towards the portal, flames erupt around them in a circle and explode. Burning and devouring him and everyone else within their massive circle without mercy.

His shriek is soundless and the flames slide inside him and around him, wiping him from existence in a single moment.


	4. Chapter 4

He's starting to get sick of waking up here.

He sighs, staring at the ceiling, and unwilling to drag himself up and face the King right at this moment. That universe had been sickening. The knowledge that, in the right circumstances, he can be that brutal, that deadly, and not even care. He knows _why_ that Ichigo had done what he did, how could he not after being in his head, but to be that emotionally confused at a single person, and turn it all into that twisted of a revenge…

A hand invades his vision, a decidedly normal looking and not faintly glowing one, and he turns his eyes down to look at Aizen. The older man doesn't seem particularly pleased at offering him a hand, if his narrowed eyes are anything to go by, but the hand remains regardless. He takes it after hesitating a moment, and Aizen hauls him to his feet without apparent effort.

He looks around, not seeing anyone in the off white room, and shoots Aizen a questioning glance. The older man gives a tiny shrug, releasing his hand.

"The King's not here, or at least not visible."

"Oh," he voices, watching the taller man. Awkward silence reigns for several long moments before he sighs, raising his right hand to drag through his hair. "Do you think he's telling the truth?" No clarification is needed for Aizen to respond.

"I don't see a reason for him to deceive us. You're also not that type of person," the traitor pauses, a grimace flickering across his face, "usually."

He can't help snorting, gaze falling to the floor. "Not a fan of that universe either, huh?"

Aizen makes a mildly disgusted noise and he looks back up in time to catch the edge of a frown on the older man's face. "Not as such. Was he caught in the trap?"

"Yeah, him and the espada and a bunch of smaller arrancar. So that Aizen knew?"

The taller man gives a small nod, eyes flickering around the room for a moment before once again settling on him. "It was his idea. He figured if they sent a slightly underpowered team to Las Noches, and at least one member was killed, that Kurosaki would attempt to strike and Yamamoto could kill him."

"Decent logic," he says softly, and Aizen gives a quiet chuckle.

"Of course. My intelligence remains regardless of the universe, you've seen that." Just a bit ago that would have made him angry, sent him yelling at the older man in argument, but now he sees the truth in the statement. The only part that irritates him about the statement now is the implied assumption that Aizen's intelligence far outweighs his own. Which is – for the most part – true, but still. Aizen could stand to be a little less obvious about thinking that.

"I think you're underestimating me, Aizen." His words are quiet, but Aizen still picks them up without problem. The traitor's eyes narrow and the smirk on his lips fades.

"Yes, I'm beginning to understand that, Kurosaki. I seem to do it in every universe, don't I?" He swallows under the intense look, jaw clenching a little in automatic defense. The moment passes and Aizen gives a tiny smirk. "So, what are your thoughts on this whole thing?"

He relaxes a fraction and shrugs, glancing once more around the room for any sign of the King's return. "We don't really have a choice, do we? I mean, do this or what… let our universe fall into chaos, let everyone die, on the chance that some other universe will do what we refused to? That seems like a hell of a chance to take," he meets Aizen's eyes, "and besides, would it really be that bad to share the role of King?"

Aizen's eyes narrow again and he almost shivers at the thoughtfulness in the older man's gaze. "I suppose it would depend on the company," Aizen murmurs, and for some reason – which he doesn't understand and refuses to look closer at – he flushes, staring at the traitor with wide eyes.

Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, the King chooses that moment to reappear, announcing himself with a clearing of his throat. "Sorry, had something to take care of. You guys ready for the next stop on our little tour?"

Aizen watches him for a moment more before giving a thin smile and turning his eyes to the King. "Yes, I believe we are." He swallows and ducks his head, refusing to look at either of the two men.

"Then let's go."

Yeah, this whole falling into darkness thing is getting aggravating too.

* * *

"Kurosaki-san?"

He shakes his head and focuses on his teacher, Ryuuken, with a tiny grin. "Sorry, sensei. Got a bit dizzy for a second."

The older quincy strides forward, bow fading into thin air, and firmly takes hold of his chin. He sighs and rolls his eyes, letting his own bow evaporate from his hand as his best friend's father drags his head this way and that, examining him.

"Really?" he gripes, "I'm just fine."

Ryuuken eventually releases him and steps back, a frown on the older man's brow. "Perhaps I've been pushing you too hard, you are fairly new at this after all."

He scowls, hands clenching. No, Ryuuken can't back off from this now. When the shinigami had come for his family, slaughtering both his parents and sisters and only missing him by bare minutes, the older man had promised to teach him how to control the quincy powers his mother had passed on to him. She had never taught him, claiming that in this world it was better not to be a quincy, but obviously that's out of the question now. The shinigami hadn't cared that Isshin - an exiled shinigami - hadn't so much as left his gigai in years, or that his mother - one of the last quincy still alive - hadn't summoned her bow in even longer.

Supposed peace or not, they had come after them, and he can't afford to stay untrained for any longer. How long will it take before they come after Urahara, or Uryuu, or any one of his friends that are starting to show signs of powers?

"No! You don't have to baby me, sensei, I'm stronger than that and you _know_ it."

Ryuuken looks down at him, eyes narrowed behind his glasses, and then gives a sigh and steps back. "You certainly inherited Isshin's stubbornness, Kurosaki-san. Very well, but don't expect me to go easy on you either."

He gives a small grin and pulls at his own energy, channeling it through the small pendant hanging around his wrist to create the blue bow quincies are so well known for. His isn't normal looking like Ryuuken's, or Uryuu's, or even his mother's; he can thank Isshin for that. While it is the stereotypical blue, it's thinner than average, though not smaller in total, and a mixture of silver and black energy spirals around what would - if the bow _wasn't_ made of energy - normally be the wooden limb of the bow, melting into the top and bottom seamlessly. Ryuuken thinks it's overly flashy, as does Uryuu, but he rather likes it.

There are a few other things he got from Isshin. While he certainly has all the quincy traits, he _also_ has a ridiculous amount of shinigami potential locked in him, due to Isshin being a former member of the royal guard, and passing that power onto him. All it really means is that he has more power than any other quincy he knows, and if he really wants to he can also - Urahara's offered - train himself as a shinigami.

Wouldn't that be something? A captain level or higher shinigami that's trained as a quincy. It's tempting… Maybe when he's trained to Ryuuken's satisfaction he'll see what Urahara can do for him.

An arrow whizzes past his head with absolutely no warning and he jerks to the side, taking off running and lifting his bow to fire a few quick shots back at his teacher. He has to scowl as Ryuuken literally shoots his arrows out of the air and retaliates with a volley that makes him leap and launch off a wall to avoid. There are more arrows at him before he even lands and he – with skill that both Ryuuken and Uryuu have painstakingly drilled into him over the past month – does his best to replicate Ryuuken's trick. He doesn't manage to get all of them, but he at least manages everything that would have hit him. He's nowhere near Ryuuken's skill level, but the older man's been a quincy for almost sixty years now so it's not real discouraging. He _is_ getting close to Uryuu though. Not in skill, but his reiatsu gives him endurance and speed that his black haired friend can't match, and he's far from humble enough to not get satisfaction from that fact.

Uryuu can still kick his ass half the time, but Ryuuken - grudgingly - has admitted that he's getting _much_ better. Or at least he's picked up that much from Ryuuken's snippy comments of how at least he's not stumbling over his own feet anymore.

He slips to the side and lets a few more arrows go, noting with aggravation - as Ryuuken once again lazily shoots his arrows into nonexistence - that he's going to need to get much closer if he's going to have any effect. Ryuuken might be his superior in all arts quincy, but _he's_ better at hand to hand, and the less time he can give the older man to respond to his attacks the better. True, he'll more than likely get some nasty cuts out of the deal, if Ryuuken doesn't just straight out shoot him, but it'll be totally worth it if he can get in even a glancing blow.

He leaps out of the way of another volley, rolling to standing, and then uses a step of hirenkyaku - which for some reason even Ryuuken can't explain he's _really_ good at - to jump into the air above the older man and unleash another burst down at the silver hair. Immediately after that he steps again, coming in crouched low behind the older man, and draws an arrow to fire into Ryuuken's lower back. Quite suddenly there's the burning fire of an arrow at his throat as his own presses into the older man's stomach.

He grins up at Ryuuken, sweat from the hours he's been here beading on the back of his neck, and keeps the bow drawn tight despite the energy it takes. "So?"

Ryuuken gives a tiny shake of his head and rolls his eyes, drawing back and letting the arrow on his bow fade. "At least I cannot fault your speed, though your strategy and skill still leave much to be desired. Again."

When the older quincy finally releases him at nearly two in the morning, he's completely exhausted. He can go a full day with Uryuu and still have energy to spare, but sparring with Ryuuken is an entirely different matter. He wanders upstairs from Ryuuken's super-secret basement and to his room, a converted guest room, crashing onto the bed without bothering to undress or anything. While his sleep is easy, his alarm clock still wakes him up far too early for his liking, and after his morning ritual he's on his way to school.

While Ryuuken had argued against him continuing his schooling - due to the fact that the shinigami might try and finish the job they'd started - he'd eventually won that particular match. He refuses to go into hiding and give up his entire life because of them, and while he knows they're watching him - can routinely see them perched on buildings and trees - they haven't come after him yet. They seem content to watch, and for the moment he's alright with that. He isn't sure exactly how strong his watchers are, and he doesn't want to try challenging them about it until he's sure he can handle whatever the shinigami throw at him.

His friends meet him in the halls, as usual. Orihime, Chad, Keigo, Mizuro, and Tatsuki. General greeting exchanged, they slip into class seconds before the bell rings. He takes his seat next to Uryuu - who _always_ beats him here, somehow - and ignores the disapproving glare the teacher throws at him and his friends. He pulls his notebook out, perfectly willing to ignore everything the teacher is talking about for the moment, and glances out the window. That stills him for a second in surprise. The usual shinigami watcher isn't perched outside in the tree, in fact he doesn't see anyone at all, which is completely unheard of.

"We have a new student in today, class."

He looks back up, stiffening slightly in his seat at the girl that walks in through the open door. She's small, black haired, with large violet eyes, and even from here he can feel the reiatsu in her frame. He glances over at Uryuu who gives him a miniscule nod, his friend's eyes narrowed behind the glasses covering them.

Shinigami.

The girl introduces herself as Kuchiki Rukia and takes the strangely empty seat on his left, flashing him a blindingly bright smile as the teacher continues with the normal lesson. "Let's be friends, hm?" she murmurs, eyes _so_ absurdly pleasant he can only assume it's faked.

"I don't think so," he hisses back, and gets a stealthily delivered elbow to the ribs from Uryuu. He rounds on the shorter man with a glare and finds the quincy completely ignoring him, blue eyes turned up to the front.

Class, for the most part, proceeds without any more than the usual distractions - Keigo's screaming, Chizuru's molestations, etc. But throughout the entire class he can feel the shinigami girl's gaze burning into the side of his head, though the few times he glances over she's not looking at him. Finally it's over and he drags himself from the chair, careful to get out on Uryuu's side, and joins the group of his friends that are slowly pulling together. But before they can head out and upwards to their usual hangout on the roof the shinigami girl approaches them.

"Hi," she says, one hand reaching out and clearly expecting him to shake it, "I'm Rukia!"

He almost just ignores her, but under the eyes of his friends, and Uryuu specifically who is giving him the look of 'go along with this right now or I'll kick your ass', he reluctantly shakes the girl's hand. "Ichigo," he grunts out, and she smiles and holds onto his hand a moment longer than necessary.

"It's good to meet you, Ichigo-san."

Uryuu calmly grabs hold of his arm and pulls him to the back of the group as they swarm forward to meet this strange and fascinating new girl. "Be nice, Ichigo."

"Why?" he demands, and Uryuu gives him another _look_ , this one screaming 'you're being a dumbass, listen to me.'

"They're testing you, isn't it obvious? They're done watching, they want to know if you're a threat or not. Behave, or so help me I will put an arrow in your ass, you understand?"

It makes too much sense, and he grits his teeth for a moment before relaxing. "Alright, fine. I'll be nice, Uryuu, promise."

The group heads up to the roof, with the addition of the shinigami girl, and settles in with the hum of comfortable conversation, lunches splayed across the concrete roof. Predictably the girl - he does in fact remember her name - manages to seat herself right next to him.

"So how are you, Ichigo-san?" she starts, and it's only the burn of Uryuu's gaze on his shoulders that forces him to remain polite and restrain the sarcastic comment on the tip of his tongue.

"Fine, I guess. You?"

She smiles again and he reaches for his lunch, pulling the sandwich - which he'd made because Ryuuken is pretty crap at all things domestic - from his lunch bag and biting into it. "Good! And your family?"

He nearly chokes, coughing and forcing himself to swallow the last bit of sandwich before looking over at her. " _Excuse_ me?"

Her smile is bright but there's something in her eyes, some flicker of inspection, that proves she knows just what she's doing. "Your family, Ichigo-san, how are they?"

He almost hits her, rage flaring sharp in his chest, but manages to bite it back. "Dead," he answers bluntly, and her smile flickers a little but remains. He drops his sandwich to his lap and focuses on her, carefully holding back the reiatsu that wants to escape his control even though there's nothing he can do about the anger in his eyes.

"Is there something you _want_ from me, shinigami? Or are you just here to antagonize me?"

He can feel her reiatsu flicker as her eyes flash in surprise, and he feels Uryuu's give a similar flicker behind him. "I don't know what you're talking about, Ichigo-san," she says brightly, and he can't help but snort.

"Sure you don't. Excuse me." He gathers his things and stands, moving over to where Uryuu's sitting several feet away and settling beside him, carefully putting the fellow quincy between him and Rukia. "Don't bite my head off, Uryuu."

"I won't, I heard the conversation," the quincy looks over at him, "I'm honestly surprised you didn't attack her, I've seen you do more for less."

He shrugs, fiddling with the sandwich on his lap and staring resolutely at it. "Yeah, well you told me not to."

"Like you ever listen to me," Uryuu snorts, picking at his bento box - which Uryuu had made because he doesn't trust anyone to make it to his _specifications_.

"I listen to you when it's important, for the most part."

"Sure," the quincy says dryly, "the way you listened when I told you that my father was going to come up behind you and _not_ to your side like you thought. As I recall you _listened_ to me that time too, nearly gave us both a heart attack."

He winces, recalling the particular training session that Uryuu is talking about. It'd been him and Uryuu against Ryuuken and Uryuu had _tried_ to tell him that the older man was going to attack from behind but, well… he hadn't listened. He'd gotten an arrow through the chest for that and he's never seen Ryuuken more worried than that day.

"Turned out fine, I got to lie in bed for a week and have you fawn over me and smother me."

"Hah! Try that again and see if I do the same thing."

He shoots Uryuu a small grin that immediately vanishes on sighting Rukia past the quincy's head. "You would and you know it," he murmurs, and Uryuu snorts and shakes his head.

"Idiot," his best friend mutters fondly and idly smacks him in the ribs with very little actual force, "Eat your food. I'll keep her away from you."

Uryuu is true to his word. While the shinigami does try to approach him a few more times, Uryuu manages to casually intercept her each time, either stepping in her path or calling attention to some aspect of the conversation that she simply _must_ comment on because she's the new girl. It helps that Chad – his closest friend behind Uryuu – keys on pretty quickly to what the quincy is doing and does his best to assist. By the time they leave she's quietly fuming, though only her reiatsu betrays it.

He'll give the girl that much, she can act.

However as the rest of the group breaks off in their own directions, she follows him and Uryuu, running up and tagging along with the excuse that her house is in the same direction. Uryuu casually places himself between them, beginning a cool conversation with the shinigami girl about some meaningless thing that he doesn't pay attention to.

Instead he watches the streets, the rooftops, eternally wary because as Ryuuken has _continuously_ drilled into him he must be wary _all the time_. Shinigami don't need to wait for darkness or solitude to strike, not when the general population can't see them. They can strike at any time, any moment, and no one will be the wiser. So he ignores the shinigami just feet away from him, trusting that Uryuu will watch her, and scans the streets. They're bare of shinigami, though he can feel a few in the distance, but he does spot a few members of the gang that likes to harass him down an alley. Luckily they never bother him when he's with anyone, probably due to that one time that they'd underestimated Uryuu and he had handily proved that despite his slender build he was still _more_ than a match for them.

"You seem wary, Ichigo-san." The comment cuts into his awareness and he turns, finding Rukia looking at him with narrowed eyes, Uryuu's lips pressed tightly together in irritation.

"There's a gang that likes to bother me around here," he lies easily, shrugging, and she makes a disbelieving sound.

"Is that right? Not looking for the murderer of your family?"

Strangely it is Uryuu that snaps out a hand instead of him, grabbing the shinigami's arm and dragging her to a halt. She squeaks in surprise but doesn't struggle, violet eyes narrowing. Ichigo stops, anger bright in his chest along with a sickening ball of grief and guilt in his stomach, and glances at Uryuu. The quincy's blue eyes are narrowed, an icy fury in his posture and the stiffness of his shoulders.

"Kuchiki Rukia, I don't know exactly what you hope to gain from antagonizing Kurosaki the way you are, but I will not stand for it," Uryuu's grip tightens on her arm and the shinigami hisses in pain, giving a little jerk as if to escape, "Know that the only reason I have not killed you here and now is that I am well aware of the shinigami's continued observation of us. However, continue to dredge up unwanted memories of your _murder_ of Ichigo's family and I promise I will cease restraining myself, and him."

She tilts her chin up, defiance easily readable in her eyes even though there's a faint tremble to her shoulders. "Threatening to kill me, Ishida-san?"

Uryuu gives a tiny smirk and releases her, "No. But there are quite a few hollows in Karakura, maybe you'll fall to one."

She flinches and her eyes widen, he can feel the quiver of fear in her reiatsu as her control of it slips. He almost sneers as it brushes against him, sensing her power and resisting the urge to loose some of his own in response. She's weak, he can feel that, enough so that it is _entirely_ plausible she would fall to one of the hollows that roam Karakura. They're stronger than average, gorged on the high spiritual power of the souls in the town, and a shinigami like her wouldn't be much of a challenge. One misplaced strike, or dodge, or even a simple slip could kill her. And if Uryuu has his say it _will_.

"Am I understood, shinigami? Or will you continue with your foolish mission to provoke him?"

She steps back and her head ducks, fear in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I was just following orders, Ishida-san, Kurosaki-san." She runs and they let her, though the still present swirl of emotion in him begs him to chase her down and kill her.

"Come on, Ichigo. We need to tell my father about all this, he knows best how to deal with shinigami."

He follows after only a moment of hesitation, glancing in the direction she'd run and swallowing down the anger and grief. He hates himself for not being there when the shinigami had come for his family, hates himself for choosing on that _particular_ night to run his mother's errands for her. He'd felt it from across town as they descended, felt the reiatsu spike from all the members of his family and the shinigami sent to kill them. He'd gone as fast as he could but Ryuuken, Urahara, and Uryuu had caught him barely a block away from his home, dragging him to the ground and holding him back as he felt his family die, felt the shinigami kill even their souls. He'd hated them for it too, for weeks afterwards, right up until the funeral. It was then that he approached Ryuuken, demanding that the older quincy teach him how to use his powers.

" _You owe me that much, Ryuuken."_

It doesn't hurt as badly as it had at first, nearly two months ago, but the mention of his family is still enough to wake powerful emotion in him that he can't hope to control. That part of a quincy – the ability to control his emotions and turn them into power and determination – he hasn't mastered yet. Still, he's better than the days where any taunt would make him violent.

When they arrive at the Ishida's house – and his now, too – they find Ryuuken waiting for them in the living room, a cup of tea in his hand and one long leg crossed over the other. The older man seems calm on the outside, but his anger can be read in the even tighter than normal control of his reiatsu and the miniscule tightness of his mouth.

"Sit," Ryuuken nearly hisses, and they obey because really, there's nothing else you can do in the face of an angry quincy. "Uryuu, would you explain to me the reiatsu I felt at your school that then accompanied you halfway back here?"

He sighs and leans back into the couch as Uryuu begins speaking in clipped, polite tones. Luckily, at the end of Uryuu's explanation, Ryuuken seems more irritated than truly angry. The older man sighs and raises a hand to rub over his eyes, brow furrowed.

"Nothing to be done for it now, I suppose. Ichigo, Uryuu, you're both excused from training for tonight. Get to bed at a reasonable hour, don't leave the house."

He nods and rises from the couch, stretching and then wandering over to the kitchen with Uryuu at his heels. Minutes later he takes his steaming bowl of ramen upstairs to his room, leaving Uryuu to create his own dinner – which, he knows, will take the picky man at _least_ another half hour – and settling into his desk chair. Mindless homework ensues, with only the small interruption of Uryuu stopping by for some inane reason, and he loses himself in the accumulated work of the week.

He can feel Uryuu eventually settle into sleep, the quincy's reiatsu smoothing and relaxing from where he normally keeps it tightly contained. Ryuuken doesn't follow, not moving from his study despite the late hour. Finally, at what has to be nearly three in the morning, he feels it.

A gate opens across town and someone, some shinigami, steps out of it. He stiffens and looks up and out his window, the pen still in his hand. The shinigami crosses the town in barely a minute and winds up standing on the roof across the street from him, watching him. He straightens and stands, feeling the power of the shinigami – who he can see from here is wearing a white captain's coat – even though the man has very good control of it.

He's tall, though his build is impossible to tell inside the loose robes the shinigami favor as a uniform, and brown hair hangs around his face and neck, shading glasses. A sword is sheathed at his waist on the left, barely visible under the captain's coat, and the shinigami's left hand idly rests on it. The captain raises his right hand and makes a beckoning motion, mouth flat.

So, this is it then. Rukia, the bitch, clearly figured they were dangerous and therefore needed to be eliminated. He sighs and runs his left hand through his hair, glancing down at himself and grimacing at the realization that he's still in his hideous school uniform which is most certainly _not_ conducive to fighting. He raises his eyes back to the shinigami, finding him waiting patiently and gestures at his clothing with a raised eyebrow.

A tiny smirk slides across the captain's face and he nods, hand falling from his sword. He leans forward over his bed and tugs the curtains closed, not real comfortable with the idea of the shinigami watching him change. He slips out of the uniform and into much more comfortable clothes – a white tank top, black cargo pants, and sneakers. That done he snags the quincy bracelet sitting on his desk and slips it over his left wrist, deeming himself ready.

Ryuuken is waiting by the door when he reaches it, watching him with a strangely neutral expression. "You're not ready to face a captain," the older man states plainly.

"What choice do I have? I go out there or he comes in here, and I'm not putting the both of you in danger for this." He shrugs and grasps the pendant hanging from his wrist in his hand. "I'll do what I can to convince him it was all me."

Ryuuken stares at him for a few moments longer before sighing and shaking his head, doing that trademark quincy thing where he adjusts his glasses and makes them flash against the light. "The Kurosaki family… stubborn bastards, the lot of you." The older man leans down and picks up a foot or so long piece of silver metal, holding it out to him. "Here, you're better with a sword than a bow anyway. I assume you know how to use it?"

He takes the tool – a Seele Schneider – and hooks it into one of the belt loops on his pants, feeling the potential in the piece of metal. "Yeah, Uryuu taught me a few weeks ago. Thanks, Ryuuken."

The older man nods and straightens up, adjusting his shirt. "I'll make sure Uryuu doesn't get involved. Try not to embarrass our name, hm?" Ryuuken leaves without another word, ascending the stairs on nearly silent footsteps, and he steels himself before opening the door and stepping out.

The captain is waiting on the surface of the street, brown eyes flicking over him in examination. He gets closer, watching the older man carefully for any twitch of his hands towards his sword. The captain gives a small smile as he comes within ten feet and inclines his head a bit.

"I assume you're Kurosaki Ichigo," he nods and the captain echoes it, "I'm Aizen Sousuke, captain of the fifth division. It's a pleasure to meet you."

He snorts, eyes narrowing a little. "Can't say the same. You're here to kill me, yeah?"

Aizen gives another nod, smile vanishing. "Unfortunately. The Captain-Commander has decided that you have too much potential to be allowed to live, so I've been sent to ensure that you don't have time to realize that potential."

"A captain, huh? I'm that much of a threat?"

The captain chuckles and shakes his head a little. "What can I say? I think Yamamoto-soutaichou is overestimating the skills you've acquired, but it wasn't my place to say so. Better than underestimating you, I suppose?"

He shrugs and glances around the street, jaw clenching for a moment. "Can we, not fight here?" The captain gives him an inquisitive look and he scuffs one foot along the ground. "I don't want anyone else getting hurt. You're here for me, fine, let's keep it that way."

The captain watches him for a moment and then nods, something like respect in his eyes. "Very well, do you wish to lead the way, or shall I?"

He hesitates and then gives a rough laugh and a tiny grin. "I'd prefer if you did, honestly. Not sure I trust you not to stab me in the back."

Aizen laughs, his voice deep and rich. "Understandable, Kurosaki-san. Follow me, then."

The captain swirls and takes a step of shunpo back to the roof he'd been standing on before. He feels a tiny swell of relief. The flash-step had been fast, but nothing close to what he can keep up with. Of course it's more than likely that the step isn't even a fraction of what the captain is capable of, but he'll choose to be optimistic for the moment. He follows the captain up with hirenkyaku, enjoying the tiny flicker of surprise in Aizen's eyes. A moment later it's gone and the captain gives a tiny smirk, brown eyes alight with challenge, and takes off.

He isn't pressed to keep up, not yet, but taking a page out of Ryuuken's book, – _"Always make your opponent believe you are less capable than you are."_ – he makes it seem like he is. When the captain finally stops in the midst of the woods beside Karakura he lands a good twenty feet away and makes a show of panting, feigning the exertion.

"Need a moment?" the captain asks, and he straightens up, slowing his breathing back from its falsely accelerated rate.

"No, I'm alright."

There's a rasp of metal as Aizen draws his sword, and without thought he summons his bow to his hand, automatically creating an arrow and drawing the bow tight and ready to fire. The captain smirks and he mirrors the expression, eyes narrowing as he focuses in on the older man. Focused as he is, he sees the attack almost before it happens. Aizen steps around him in shunpo, coming in on his left side with his zanpakuto raised high, and he turns to meet the older man, ducking low to avoid the slice and firing his arrow up at the captain. Surprise widens Aizen's eyes as the captain jerks aside, the arrow slicing through the cloth covering his shoulder and cutting a neat groove into his skin.

He stays on the older man, matching his step back with one forward and loosing a few more arrows straight at the captain's heart. Aizen moves away with shunpo and he follows immediately, coming out in front of the older man with the next shot already flying from his bow. This one Aizen ducks under before immediately striking, the older man's sword slicing through the air and just barely nicking his cheek as he throws himself backwards. He rolls and comes up kneeling, bow drawn, to find the shinigami watching him with narrowed eyes.

"You're faster than you let on, Kurosaki-san. I'd imagine you're faster than either of your fellow quincies, aren't you?"

He gives a tiny shrug, slowly rising to his feet. "Uryuu, definitely, but Ryuuken can still match or exceed my speed most of the time. The speed came with the shinigami heritage, far as Ryuuken can tell."

Aizen darts forward, zigzagging across the space between them to make less of a target, and he jumps to avoid the swing, flipping over the captain and firing straight down. The older man turns in the blink of an eye, slicing his arrow out of the air, and lashes out with his free hand. He yelps as the captain grabs him by his right arm as he lands and drags him forward, neatly shoving his sword through his side. He cries out in pain and pulls against the captain's grip, struggling to get his hand far enough over to draw his bow. Aizen easily holds him back – damn the shinigami's superior physical strength – and he fights to ignore the pain of the sword in him.

"Bastard!" he snaps, letting the bow go and reaching back for the Seele Schneider with his free left hand. It takes under a moment to channel through the tool and create the accompanying sword – or arrow, as Uryuu insists – and he grips it like a knife, swinging it around at the captain's ribs.

Instant reaction or not, Aizen can't draw back in time. The energy sword carves a thick gash into Aizen's side as the older man releases him and draws back, splattering blood across the forest floor. He staggers at the withdraw of the sword in his side, but still switches the Seele Schneider to his right hand without hesitation. It feels natural there, properly balanced and just like any one of the bouken he'd sparred with back in the days he'd taken martial arts classes.

The captain looks down at his wound, brown eyes narrowed, and he can't help but grin a little in victory. Adrenaline is raging through him, spurred on by pain and excitement and anger, and he grips the metal handle of the energy sword a little tighter. The frown turns to a smirk and the captain looks back up at him, glasses glinting in the moonlight coming through the trees.

"Not bad at all, Kurosaki-san."

His grin twitches upwards a fraction and he gives a rough laugh. "Thanks. But if this is you restrained I don't think I want to try facing you once you get rid of that limiter."

One eyebrow rises before Aizen gives a quiet chuckle. "I assume you're referring to the restraints that fourth seats and above are given in order to keep us from damaging the surrounding area too badly?" He nods and Aizen legitimately laughs, shaking his head. "I am not restrained, Kurosaki-san."

His eyes widen and he freezes, watching the captain in shock. No way. He's been fighting the captain with his normal power? He can actually face down a captain like this? True Aizen hasn't made any motion to go into shikai or bankai or even use kidou of any kind, but still. From what he's heard of captains and what he's gleaned from sparring with Urahara, Aizen should be able to more or less wipe the floor with him if he's not restrained in any way.

"Seriously?" he asks cautiously, and Aizen nods, smirking with that one eyebrow still high.

"Did you believe that this kind of speed was merely me contained at a quarter of my strength?"

He flushes but doesn't take his eyes off of Aizen. "Yeah, I guess. I just assumed that captains were these ridiculously powerful people that couldn't really be matched."

"We are," Aizen says softly, eyebrow finally down though the smirk remains, "How long have you been in training, Kurosaki-san?"

"A month," he answers plainly, and Aizen's eyes widen in clear surprise.

"Only that?" Something flickers in the captain's eyes as they narrow again. "Kurosaki-san, would you…" Aizen pauses and he stares at the captain, utterly confused.

"What?"

The older man shakes his head, a small smile on his lips. "Never mind, it was a foolish idea. Let's continue, shall we? It would be rather silly to stand here talking till one or the both of us bleed out, hm?"

Aizen is on him again just like that and he parries with the Seele Schneider and retaliates, whipping the sword out. It cuts through Aizen's coat but doesn't actually catch the captain, and he gains a shallow cut across his left forearm for even that. He feels Aizen loosen control of his reiatsu and gives a tight grin, jumping at the captain with a horizontal slash and feeling the power slide across his skin like water. He isn't capable just yet of absorbing reiatsu like spirit particles, not on his own, but he can do it with Seele Schneider's help, no problem.

He feels the influx of power as it gathers into his sword and the energy the blade is made up of glows a bright white in response to the reiatsu it's absorbing. He breathes a little harder, still grinning, and parries a blow with very little effort, flicking it to the side and launching a strike of his own that raises a line of blood across Aizen's throat.

The captain jumps back and he follows, a step of hirenkyaku taking him around and behind the older man. Aizen whirls away and around him, their backs touching, and he feels the captain's breath on his shoulder. "Ah yes, the trait that makes quincies so very dangerous. You're still very new to be absorbing reiatsu as power, Kurosaki-san."

He doesn't move away, head turned to the side to watch the older man's right arm and, consequentially, his sword. "Seele Schneider's trick, not mine. I can't do it yet."

Aizen moves, turning and striking, and he turns to meet the blow. The captain's sword pushes against his and he's forced back. He realizes his mistake when his back slams hard into one of the trees around them, halting his retreat. There's no time to dodge before Aizen shoves his sword through his chest and then steps back, leaving him pinned to the tree. He bites back a cry, head arched back against the wood and teeth gritting. He feels the energy blade flicker, lacking his concentration to hold it together, and he tightens his grip and swallows thickly.

As Aizen begins to step forward he raises his arms, summoning his bow and setting Seele Schneider on it. Yeah, sure, arrow. He has no hope of pulling the sword out on his own, it's in too deep and it's a terrible angle to be pulling anything, but Aizen's not getting it back that easily either. The captain is no more than four feet away, there's no _way_ he dodges a shot at this range.

He lets the sword-turned-arrow go and Aizen does his best to get out of the way and, for the most part, succeeds. Seele Schneider still punches through his right shoulder, but it misses anything vital. The captain staggers, pain clear in his eyes, but quickly collects himself and straightens up, left hand to the bloody wound.

He sags and shudders against the tree, arms falling to his sides and his bow flickering into nothingness. Quincy he might be, but he's still human when it comes down to it and he can't take the kind of injuries that shinigami can. Aizen moves forward, cautiously, and he gives a quiet snort that turns into a sharp cry of pain when the captain grips the sword and pulls it out of him. He slides to the ground, leaving – undoubtedly – a streak of blood on the trunk behind him.

The sword slides beneath his chin, tilting his head up with the flat of the blade, and he meets Aizen's gaze. "Any last words, Kurosaki-san?"

He pauses for a moment, feeling cold steal into his fingertips. "A request, actually," he says softly, and Aizen nods for him to continue. "Make sure my cross and the Seele Schneider get back to Ryuuken?"

The captain raises an eyebrow, surprise and some measure of wariness in his gaze. "You're asking me to go to the home of your teacher after killing you, while wounded?"

He gives a painful laugh, coughing on the blood he can feel sliding up his throat. The strike has pierced one of his lungs, he can tell. He won't live even if the captain doesn't kill him. "Ryuuken won't, do anything. He knew I came out here to die." He chokes out another laugh and spits out blood. "Will enjoy knowing I injured you at all, probably."

Aizen watches him for a few seconds before giving a tiny smirk. "I'll do one better, Kurosaki-san. I'll make sure your body is returned for a proper burial along with your tools, deal?"

Well that's more than he expected. "Yeah, alright."

The captain nods and his smirk falls, eyes narrowing as his blade pulls back. "I'll make it fast."

"Thanks," he gasps out, and then gives a groan as the sword slips into his chest with perfect aim, puncturing his heart. It's a strange dual feeling, since the zanpakuto is a spiritual weapon and is injuring both his body and his soul at the same time. He chokes out a cry as the sword is withdrawn and he can feel the rush of blood soak his clothing, turning what little of it was still white, red.

He closes his eyes, letting his head droop, and allows the darkness to take him without struggle. Mentally, in the last moments of his awareness, he sends a silent apology to Uryuu.


	5. Chapter 5

He wakes with a cough, aching pain in his chest, and gives a low groan. From across the room, he hears a similar – if deeper – groan from what he can only assume is Aizen. He pushes himself to sitting, the pain in his chest slowly easing, and shakes his head. He hears Aizen moving and looks up to see the older man stand, brown eyes narrowed and watching him.

"You're part quincy, and your father was a member of the royal guard?" Aizen asks, voice low and mildly demanding, and he shrugs as he follows the older man to standing.

"I guess? Explains some things, I suppose. Nice to know my power actually comes from somewhere, as opposed to being some random freak of nature." Aizen lifts an eyebrow and he gives another shrug. "Come on, you can't say you didn't wonder how I managed this much power in this little time, with _no_ formal training. If you weren't worried about the rate I grew and if there even _is_ a limit to my powers, then you wouldn't be trying to kill me, right?"

Aizen gives a small smirk, moving closer. "I suppose that's true. And you're right, I have wondered where all your power comes from. It is very rare that individuals with as much power as you _don't_ come from a family of such individuals."

He watches the older man approach, coming to stand in front of him at a comfortable distance of three or four feet away. "What happened to that Aizen?"

"I don't know. I only saw up till he killed the quincy. I can only assume he dies in some terrible fashion, seems to be the pattern." He can't help chuckling and Aizen watches him, smirking. "He was intending to ask if that Ichigo wished to help him destroy Soul Society. That was the question he stopped halfway through."

"Really?" Aizen nods and he gives a small sound of consideration. "He would've said yes in a heartbeat. Why didn't he ask?"

Aizen gives his own shrug, a tiny lift of broad shoulders. "He simply decided that being alone was better, he was unsure if he could trust that Ichigo." There's something cool in the older man's tone, something behind the simple statement.

He hesitates, watching Aizen's eyes turn away and glance about the room. "Why do you do that?" he finally asks, and Aizen's gaze returns to him.

"Do what, Kurosaki-san?"

He struggles to find a way to word it, letting his gaze drop to the floor for a moment before raising it again. "In every universe, you're always so alone. Why?"

Aizen raises an eyebrow, a tiny smirk on his lips. "It's simpler that way, Kurosaki-san. Why would I surround myself with people who cannot understand me, who cannot hope to match me? Why would I put trust in those people, when I am fully aware that they will betray me given sufficient reason?" He swallows, understanding striking him hard and sinking into his chest like a blade. Aizen only gives a small shake of his head, eyes coldly intelligent. "Can you honestly say that it isn't better to trust solely in yourself and your own abilities, Kurosaki-san?"

"Yes!" he nearly cries out, and Aizen gives a little flinch in response, eyes flickering with surprise.

The older man chuckles, that smirk still firmly twisting his lips. "Then I suppose you are a more hopeful person than I am, Kurosaki-san. I do not believe in such fanciful ideas, and I prefer not to place my trust in those that cannot see the world as I can."

It's probably good that the King takes that moment to reappear. He can't help the disbelieving wideness of his eyes or the sick twist of something dangerously close to sympathy in his chest. The King says something and Aizen responds, but for the life of him he can't understand it. And just like that Aizen is gone, vanished. The King gives him this _look_ , pity in his golden eyes.

"I figured you might need a minute," the King says softly, and this time he understands. He swallows and takes a shaky step back, gaze falling to the ground.

Aizen had as much as admitted that he didn't really consider anyone worthy of being at his side, or capable of so much as understanding him or seeing him as he is. And the very _idea_ that Aizen – for whatever reason – has simply given up on finding anyone that is his equal… The idea of being that alone legitimately scares him, he can't even imagine a world where he doesn't trust anyone or consider anyone at all to be a friend or even an ally.

"Does he really think like that?" he questions quietly and desperately, asking the room at large more than specifically the King.

"Aizen Sousuke is much more complicated than that, it's hard to definitively say he thinks one way or another. But yes, he does believe that no one else can match him. It's easier for him that way, he doesn't need to continue to hope that someone exists who can be his equal." He looks up at the King and the alternate version of him gives a sad little smile. "It must have been exceedingly trying for him. Living among people who couldn't hope to match his intelligence or his skill, who couldn't even see behind the mask he uses. I suppose he simply became used to the idea of people as things he could manipulate, since no one has ever truly known him. Gin is, perhaps, the one who knows him best, but even Gin is not his friend in any sense of the word, not on either side."

He stays silent a moment before speaking, "Then he's truly alone, in all universes?"

The King shakes his head. "Not all, but most. The next universe is one where he isn't, but even then… You'll see."

He straightens, resolve pooling in his chest as he stares at the King. "Not anymore," he spits out, "if I have to be King with that bastard then he's going to fucking learn how to look at me as a _person_."

The King smirks, golden eyes alight with amusement. "He won't like it, you know he won't."

"Like I give a damn, he can kick and scream the whole way for all I care. He _will_ understand, even if I have to beat it into his thick skull. I'll match him in any way he needs me to, the fucker."

As the darkness consumes his vision, he barely hears the King's last, murmured, word.

 _Good_.

* * *

"Ichigo-kun? Are you alright?"

He gives a breathless nod and shifts atop Aizen, arching his back and rocking against the older man. Aizen inhales sharply and tightens the grip on his hips, watching him with hungry brown eyes. He manages a smirk and quickens the pace, giving a low moan as Aizen's dick – quite firmly and comfortably inside him – strikes his prostrate at _just_ the right angle. The older man – his professor, and damn someday he wants to do some role-play with that fact – leans up and slides his left hand back from his hip to press against his low back, setting teeth against his shoulder.

Always out of sight, always just a little lower than what's visible in a normal shirt, because while neither of them particularly care what others will say, the administration pretty heavily frowns upon sleeping with your students. True, this is college and there's nothing they can _legally_ do, but they both have decided to keep it quiet until the end of the semester, just for convenience. Aizen for the sake of his job, and Ichigo for the sake of his reputation, mostly. He'd rather just avoid the whole mess of people accusing him of sleeping with Aizen for grades; he has enough trouble with people thinking he's a delinquent as it is, no need to add whoring to that imagined reputation.

He arches forward against Aizen and slips his hands down to rest on either side of the larger man's waist, thighs working to pull himself up and down again. Aizen prefers him on his back or knees – control freak – but he also knows damn well that the older man wouldn't be half as interested in him if he didn't challenge those preferences. If he didn't demand and cajole and take control sometimes, then Aizen would have discarded him a long time ago, that's a fact he's absolutely certain of.

Aizen lays a second bite beside the first one and he hisses through his teeth at the minor pain, tensing a little and feeling the slight tremble and hitch of breath at the sensation from Aizen. He slides his right hand up the older man's chest and around the back of his neck, dragging him up for a kiss. Aizen's tongue slips between his lips without hesitation, pressing into his mouth and giving shallow thrusts in a pale mimicry of the act they're engaging in.

He moans into the kiss and gives a little shudder at the approaching swell of orgasm that he can feel gathering at the base of his spine. "Sousuke," he gasps out, and the older man moves instantaneously.

Aizen flips them, pushing him onto his back on the bed, and somehow managing to keep up the rhythm of thrusts without even pausing. He arches and tightens his grip on the larger man, legs hooked around his waist as Aizen slams into him, pushing him ever closer to completion. One large hand wraps around his dick, expertly twisting in _just_ the way he likes it, teeth descending on his chest to leave a series of biting kisses down his ribs that are hard enough to draw blood. Because Aizen knows – intelligent bastard – that he likes things a little rough, and there's nothing quite like feeling the sting of the scratches beneath his clothes later on.

Especially when he's at his desk in the lecture hall with Aizen – glasses on because the older man _always_ teaches with glasses – calling on him for a question or to read something out, and giving him _that_ expectant look, brown eyes glinting with suppressed amusement since he _knows_.

That idea pushes him to the edge where he clings, desperate to postpone it for just a few moments longer, and gives a choked cry, neck arching back for a brief moment. Aizen places a bite – harder than the rest – right between his pectorals, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes that swirl with lust and heat.

"Come for me, Ichigo. _Now_."

He can't do anything but obey.

He comes with a cry, back arching and muscles tensing as his eyes squeeze shut. He knows – dimly – that he's raking his nails down Aizen's back, but doesn't care for the moment, feeling the warm splatter of his release on his own stomach. He gives a low moan and relaxes back against the bed, afterglow hitting hard after the intense release, and allows his arms to lower and rest against the sheets.

Aizen pulls up, hands moving to grip his hips as the older man intensifies his pace in search of his own release. He watches Aizen, heat stirring even though it's _far_ too soon for him to be even remotely hard again. Sweat glints on the older man's body – which is much too attractive and fit for any English professor, seriously – and he bites back a groan of appreciation at the sight, silently enjoying the flex of hard muscle beneath the practically flawless skin.

It isn't particularly long before Aizen is shuddering against him, a deep moan escaping the older man. He twitches and closes his eyes for a moment at the heat that spreads into him, clenching around Aizen's dick in automatic reaction and wringing another groan from the older man. Aizen leans down over him, bracing a single hand on the sheets beside his head and pressing a very gentle kiss to his lips. He can't help a tired laugh, raising his right hand to tunnel through Aizen's disheveled brown – though it's darkened to almost black with sweat – hair.

"Always so gentle after," he murmurs, and Aizen raises an eyebrow in question, pulling out of him as he softens and rolling to stand from the bed.

"What do you mean, Ichigo?"

He watches Aizen walk from the bedroom to the adjoining bathroom, enjoying the view of the older man's ass before it vanishes from sight. There's a momentary noise of running water before Aizen remerges, two obviously wet washcloths in hand. He takes the one that Aizen offers him and pushes himself up, wiping down his stomach before lowering it to give a perfunctory swipe across his ass and thigh where he can feel the trickle of Aizen's seed slipping across his skin.

Sex, while absurdly awesome, tends to be a little nasty afterwards.

"Well, you're always all dominant, master, kinda rough _during_ the sex, but afterwards you get all soft and gentle." Aizen's brow crinkles a little in a tiny frown, and he stands from the bed and steps forward to press against the older man, resting his head against Aizen's chest. "Oh relax, Sousuke. Not criticizing, just commenting."

Aizen gives an amused huff, left hand rising to circle his waist in a loose embrace. "Am I to assume that you enjoy it then? Or would you like me to act in some other way?"

He shakes his head and pulls back a bit, meeting Aizen's gaze. "No. It's nice."

"Then I'll just take that as a compliment, I suppose." Aizen glances over at the door to the bathroom before looking back at him, lips twitching upwards in a smirk. "Shower?"

He grins and steps back, recognizing the gleam of anticipation in the older man's eyes. "Sounds good, yeah." He makes his way across the room and into the tiled bathroom, moving to the walk in shower, switching the water on. He can hear Aizen following him, undoubtedly watching his ass like _always_. "But, you know, we'll have to make it fast. I have class tomorrow, and my English professor is a real bastard about being on time."

Aizen presses up against his back and he can feel the older man smirk against his skin as the washcloth is taken from his hand. He hears the whistle of cloth through air before the telltale impact of it against the laundry basket across the room. "Oh I'm sure I can wake you up in time."

In the end, by the time Aizen is through with him, he's more than exhausted enough to slip into dreamless sleep. He's also, upon being woken the next morning, pretty sore. He's sporting a set of bite marks across his back to match the ones down his chest, and Aizen's left one particularly hard one on his left hip. As he gets dressed – he keeps spare sets of clothes at Aizen's in the event he sleeps over, which happens fairly often – he shoots the similarly dressing Aizen a nasty glance, pulling his low riding jeans up and hissing a little at the sting of the bite on his hip. His jeans are tight enough to aggravate it, but only come up high enough to cover about half the bite, leaving the other half peeking out over the top.

"You're a bastard, that's going to hurt _all_ day."

Aizen smirks, flipping the collar on his white dress shirt down and buttoning everything but the top two buttons, leaving a sliver of his chest on display. "You know you'll enjoy it, Ichigo. Besides, it's not like you have one of your martial arts classes today."

He huffs and shoves a belt through the loops, pulling it tight before reaching for the plain black t-shirt he'd laid on the bed. "Not the point, Sousuke." He shivers as the older man slips up against his back, lips pressing against the side of his throat.

"You know that as soon as you're in my class you'll start to love it," Aizen smirks against his skin and raises his mouth to speak directly into his ear, "the sting of it, knowing that you're carrying my marks on your skin," the older man's right hand shoves into the back of his pants and he arches in surprise, shuddering at the feel of those long fingers stroking at his entrance, "that the remnants of my release are still inside you."

He flushes, heat gathering as he hardens at the provocative words, and Aizen gives a rich chuckle. "I know I'll be thinking about it. I'll probably call on you just so you have to stand up and answer my question, all eyes on you and only a thin layer of fabric between their gaze and the proof that I've taken you."

"You…" he gasps out, irritation dying under arousal. Aizen will do that, _has_ done that, and it is both nerve-wracking and hot as all hell. "Not fucking fair, Sousuke."

Aizen laughs in his ear and he shivers, hands clenching in the shirt he's still holding. "All's fair in love and war. Would you like me to leave you like this, Ichigo?"

He snorts and then arches back against the older man, head lying back on his shoulder, as Aizen's free – left – hand comes forward and presses firmly against his dick through his jeans. "Finish what you started, bastard."

Aizen makes a pleased sound and skillfully undoes his belt before firmly, but slowly, pushing him down so he ends up on his knees with his front half flat against the bed. His jeans and the black boxers he has on beneath them are tugged down to his knees and Aizen's hands return unhindered to his skin. One hand slips around his hip to wrap around his dick while the other moves to his ass, one long finger pushing into him with no trouble. He grits his teeth and closes his eyes against the bed, hands releasing the shirt to curl into the sheets instead.

Aizen presses over his back, lips placing small kisses along his spine. "Is it the thought of it being forbidden that turns you on, Ichigo, or is it the thought of being _owned_ by me?" He inhales sharply at the suggestion, mind providing him with a surprisingly vivid picture of himself, naked at Aizen's feet, with a black collar around his throat.

"I… No!"

He shudders as Aizen laughs against his back, deep and tinged with lust, and a second finger slips into him beside the first. "Oh it _is_. Now that just opens up a whole new section of games, doesn't it, Ichigo?" The fingers scissor inside him, stretching, and he shudders. "I could spank you, so every time you sat down you'd feel it, and watch you squirm in my class as you struggled to hide it." He can't help the groan that bursts from his chest at the image, a sharp twist of pleasure sliding down his spine.

"And once it's winter I can put a collar around your throat. You'll put a scarf over it, to hide it, but _I'll_ know, and every time you swallow you'll feel it press against your windpipe, feel it restrict your breathing just that little bit. And you'll know, you'll remember, that you're _mine_."

He gives a strangled cry, unable to so much as attempt to hold back the orgasm, and spills over Aizen's fingers. The older man gives a pleased sound, stroking and pressing inwards at his prostrate to prolong it. When he goes completely limp Aizen pulls the fingers out of him and removes his hand, reaching for the sheets – which need to be changed after last night anyway – and wiping off his hands.

He breathes against the bed, eyes slipping open, and feels Aizen very carefully wipe him off and slide his hands down the outside of his thighs to pull his jeans and boxers back on. He shivers as they're replaced and refastened, and Aizen gives a soft sound of reassurance, slowly pulling him up and back. He curls into the older man's chest, allowing himself to rest, and Aizen gently strokes a single hand over his shoulder.

"Is this something you want to explore, Ichigo?" Aizen asks quietly, and he looks up, meeting the brown eyed gaze. "Talking about it and using it as a fantasy is one thing, but actually engaging in the kinds of situations I brought up is something altogether different. I am more than willing if you'd like to, but I will not ever press the issue if you do not."

He hesitates and then certainty settles in his chest and steels his determination. "Tell me what it would be," he demands, and Aizen's eyes flash in surprise.

"The kind of relationship I'm speaking of is a master and servant – or to be more extreme, slave – one. You would acknowledge me, in private if not in public, as your master. What exactly occurs in these relationships can be very, very, different in each case. However, you would choose a safe word and that safe word would allow you to call a stop to any situation _immediately_ , essentially functioning as an emergency halt to anything you did not enjoy.

"I would choose types of play I thought you'd like, or you could ask for certain ones. As a master, I would be responsible for your well-being, your safety, your pleasure, with my own as secondary. It won't seem like that, it may in fact sometimes feel like I'm using you for my own benefit, but _you_ will always be my priority. Understand?"

He nods and pauses, lowering his gaze for a moment, and then gives a huff of amusement. "Yeah, I think I _would_ like to try that."

Aizen smirks and kisses him before gently standing and pulling him up as well. "In that case, I'll meet you at my car. When we get to the college, I'll give you a small taste of what you're agreeing to." He swallows and Aizen's smirk twitches upwards. "I'll see you outside, Ichigo."

The older man leaves, the distant sound of the front door of his house shutting snapping him out of the hesitation inspired by that last statement. He steps into action, taking the shirt from the bed and pulling it over his head before moving out of the bedroom, into the living room, and grabbing the bag he'd brought in last night after that day of classes. He collects the homework he'd spread over the low glass coffee table in the center of the room, puts it back into the folder it belongs in, and shoves it in his bag. After donning his socks and shoes – sitting by the door – he steps outside and moves to the gently purring car sitting in Aizen's driveway, sliding inside.

The older man is rich – more so than a professor should be, but he hasn't asked where the extra money comes from yet – and that shows in the sleek black machine. Power and grace all wrapped in an incredibly beautiful outer shell, much like Aizen himself. He slips the seatbelt on and Aizen watches him for a brief moment, eyes heated and with traces of amusement, before starting the car and backing out, beginning the fifteen or so minute trip to the college.

To his surprise Aizen doesn't drop him off a few blocks away like usual, but pulls straight into the staff parking lot – barely a hundred feet away from the offices – and shuts the car off, looking over at him. There's about an hour before the class that he takes from Aizen, which is equally unusual. Usually they get here roughly half an hour beforehand, so there's extra time for Aizen to open the classroom, and him to come in later. The things they do to keep their relationship hidden are a little silly sometimes.

"You'll be coming with me to my office, Ichigo, alright?" He nods and Aizen smirks, amusement in the older man's eyes that makes him wonder what exactly he has planned. "Good, let's go then."

Aizen opens the door, steps out of the car, and Ichigo mimics it, standing on the opposite side with his bag thrown over his shoulder. Without a word, the professor locks the car with a press of one of the buttons on his keys and strides towards the building housing the staff's offices. He follows three or four feet behind, struggling not to let the mix of nervousness and arousal that he's feeling show on his face. Not that it matters even if he does, they don't see anyone on the walk to Aizen's office.

Aizen unlocks his office and steps inside, motioning for him to follow. The older man flicks the light on and moves immediately to his chair, settling into it and watching him over the dark wood of the older man's desk as he pulls the door shut and drops his bag on the floor. Aizen's mouth twitches upwards in a smirk, eyes heating, and the professor relaxes back into the chair.

"Lock it, and pull the blinds over the windows." He flushes, hesitating for just a moment at the pure _suggestion_ in Aizen's orders, before obeying. He clicks the lock on the door and pulls the blind down over the small window at face height before turning, crossing the room, and dragging down the blinds over the larger window that looks out over the campus from the second floor office.

He looks back over at Aizen and the older man pushes his rolling chair back, crooking a finger at him. "Come here, Ichigo." He moves forwards and his flush intensifies when Aizen's legs part and the older man smirks at him. He kneels between Aizen's legs without prompting and the older man's right hand comes forward and threads through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp. "Good." He shivers and feels heat stir in his groin at the position they're in.

No one can get into the room, or see into it, but that doesn't mean that they can't get caught. Those blinds aren't impenetrable, someone could knock. There are so many different things that could happen, yet here he is kneeling between Aizen's legs in the older man's office.

"Suck me off, Ichigo." How, exactly, Aizen manages to make that _not_ sound crude, he doesn't know, but the older man does. It sounds rich, amazing, and not at all like it would if he or anyone else said it.

He hesitates for a brief moment, eyes flicking towards the door, before rising up on his knees and leaning forwards, hands coming up to undo the button of the older man's black dress slacks. Aizen pulls sharply at his hair, jerking his head up, and a slightly reprimanding sound comes from the older man's mouth. He shoots Aizen a slightly irritated look but doesn't protest, pausing where he is with his hands on Aizen's thighs.

"Clasp your hands behind your back," he does, though confusion rises in him, "keep them there unless I say otherwise." He has to suppress a shudder at voluntarily keeping himself restrained like that, and Aizen's smirk grows a little darker. "Continue." He glances back down at the clasp of the slacks – a button and zipper – and opens his mouth to demand an explanation as to exactly _how_ Aizen expects him to continue anything with his hands behind his back, but Aizen very neatly cuts him off.

"With your mouth," the older man nearly purrs, and his mouth snaps shut.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

He can't restrain the shudder this time, arousal hitting him hard, and judging by the way Aizen's smirk twists upward, the older man can see it. He hesitates for a moment before leaning forward, struggling to stay balanced with his hands behind his back, and Aizen's left hand comes forward and grips his shoulder. He shoots Aizen a thankful glance, leaning into the grip to maintain his balance, and lowers his head to the slacks. It takes a bit of finagling but he manages after a minute to figure out how to take the slacks in his mouth and pop the button through its hole with his tongue.

That done, and some small amount of pride swelling in his chest, he takes careful hold of the zipper with his teeth and drags it down. The next target is the briefs and he carefully takes the waistband between his teeth and drags it down. With some careful force, and a well-timed lift of hips from Aizen, he manages to finally free the prize.

Aizen is erect, and somehow – though this is by far not the first time he's given the older man a blowjob – the idea of the act is so much more appealing now that he's worked so hard to get it. He leans forward and swipes his tongue along the flesh, eyes closing for a brief moment, and is rewarded with a miniscule hitch of breath from Aizen. He takes the head into his mouth and sucks, feeling Aizen's hand tighten a bit on his shoulder in reaction.

"You have twenty minutes, Ichigo, before I need to be there to open the lecture hall." Aizen's voice isn't demanding, or even warning, it's merely commenting. Still, it feels like a challenge. Aizen, as he's proven many times, has impressive control, and twenty minutes is not a large amount of time.

Twenty minutes, hm? He can do that.

He goes to town, closing his eyes and pulling out every trick he knows to break Aizen's control. And it works. He doesn't know the amount of time, but eventually Aizen's grip tightens to bruising levels and the hand in his hair drags his head down, forcing the older man's cock deep into his throat.

"Swallow," Aizen's voice is deep and dark, commanding, and he has no choice but to obey as the older man groans and shudders against him. Aizen's release slides down his waiting throat and he swallows repeatedly, drawing a gasped breath from Aizen. It isn't the first time he's swallowed for Aizen, and it isn't something he particularly dislikes _or_ enjoys, but this time – for some reason – it actually ignites heavy arousal in him.

He pulls back when Aizen allows him to, taking in a deep breath and looking up at the older man. Aizen is watching him, relaxed and clearly at ease, though not smiling. Something in him trembles, waiting for a clue in either direction as to what Aizen's thinking. The tense – at least tense in his mind – moment is broken when Aizen gives a very soft smile and the hand in his hair slips down to cup his jaw, thumb sliding over his lips.

"Very well done," Aizen murmurs, and the arousal in him is tempered by relief and comfort. He realizes at that moment that he had genuinely been hanging on Aizen's approval, just waiting to see if he'd pleased the older man. Confusion of how and _why_ that feeling is there rises and Aizen seems to see it, leaning forward and down and giving him a soft, chaste, kiss.

"You surrendered yourself to me, to obeying my commands and submitting to my desires, you devoted yourself to pleasing me. Whether you realized it or not, in your mind that _desire_ to please me overrode everything else. Do you understand?"

He gives a slow nod, caught in Aizen's gaze, and is rewarded with another kiss. "Good. Fix my clothes," before he can even begin to ponder how he's going to do all that with only his mouth Aizen is continuing, "you may use your hands."

He obeys, readjusting and pulling to put the briefs back in their proper place and then to fasten the slacks back up. Aizen releases him when he's done and nudges him back a bit, standing from the desk chair. The older man crooks fingers at him and he gets to his feet, Aizen reaches out and takes his chin in one hand, tilting his head up to connect their gazes.

"You will sit through my class, feeling the sting of my bite marks, tasting my release in your mouth, feeling the ache in your shoulder, and you're going to think about this and decide if you really want to explore it. Am I understood?"

"Yeah," he answers after a moment, and Aizen's eyes harden a little.

"It won't all be like this. I will push you to your limits, and past them. I can only promise that I will take care of you, and I will never do anything you don't want or need." The older man pauses a moment, watching him intently, and then continues. "I won't call on you during class. Take the time to think about it, _really_ think about it. When the class is done I'll want an answer, and an explanation for why. Alright?" He nods and Aizen echoes it, brown eyes softening. "Alright." The older man glances down and a tiny smirk twists his lips.

"This time, I'm offering you a choice. Do you want release, now?"

He pauses, looking up at Aizen, and then shakes his head. "Actually, no. I'm, good."

Aizen makes a pleased noise, smirk slipping to a smile. He's gathered into a loose embrace for a moment before Aizen steps back, eyes serious. "Ichigo, whichever way you choose I will not criticize. I will continue to love you either way."

Warmth blooms in his chest and he gives a very soft smile in response. "Thank you, Sousuke."

The professor nods and moves past him to the door after a last smile. "I'll see you in class, Ichigo."

He just stands there for a moment before he looks up at the clock hanging on the wall, noting that the class will start in about thirty-five minutes, and pride blooms sharply. Aizen gets there half an hour early to open the lecture hall, so he'd finished Aizen's little challenge with plenty of time to spare. Yeah, he's good.

He gives a little grin to himself and heads for the door, retrieving his bag before leaving the room. He heads for the lecture hall, not particularly hurrying, and gets there in about ten minutes since it's at the opposite end of the campus. The door is propped open, a few students that he recognizes but doesn't know by name sitting outside, and he walks in. There are about twenty students already sitting down, mostly the serious studiers – like Ishida – who take up the front two rows. Ishida is, in fact, there, sitting just off center in the front row.

He looks over at the desk with the blackboard sitting behind it and Aizen gives him a friendly nod from where he's setting his things up. He mimics it and heads up the stairs in the lecture hall to his usual seat – fourth row out of eight, and two seats to the right of middle. Just average, right where no teacher pays attention. He mindlessly reaches for his notebook and lays it out on the small desk in front of him, storing the rest of his bag below his seat, and settles in for the twenty-five minute wait for class to start.

Aizen settles into his own chair after a moment, pulling a book from the recesses of his desk and flipping it open. The students trickle in, slowly filling up the seats around him, and it's about five minutes before the start of the class when Renji comes in.

"Abarai," Aizen says, and his friend freezes in step and turns. Renji's hair is down, splaying over his shoulders in red waves, which usually means that he's spent the night with Byakuya and he's trying to cover up hickeys.

"Yeeeessss?" Renji asks, guilt already in his voice.

Aizen replies without looking up from his book, "You will remove those earphones before my class begins."

Renji's eyes widen a little and Ichigo stifles a laugh at the expression of forced innocence on his friend's face. "What earphones?" he asks.

Aizen looks up, one eyebrow raised and one corner of his mouth turned upwards. "The ones you're attempting to hide under your hair, Abarai. Remove them before my class starts, understood?"

Renji stares at the older man, whose gaze has returned to the book, and makes a spluttering sound. "How do you always _know?_ " he demands incredulously, and Aizen smirks without looking up.

"Consider me clairvoyant, Abarai. Go sit down."

Renji wordlessly obeys, pulling the earphones out amidst quiet snickers, and ascends the stairs to sit at the desk directly to his left. "Fucking mind reader," the redhead hisses quietly, and he has to snort.

"Or maybe he just knows you'll always try something, Renji. You're not hard to read, honestly." Renji echoes his snort and leans back in his seat, slouching even as he retrieves his notebook and plops it upon the desk. "Or you could try not wearing your hair down whenever you're hiding something. Serious clue there."

The redhead shoots him a single nasty look before shrugging. "Whatever, he's just magical, I swear."

He shakes his head and leans back, staring down at his notebook and idly rereading his notes from the class. "If you say so," he murmurs, and then jumps a little as Aizen snaps his book closed from the front of the room, standing from his chair and moving to the open door, pushing it shut. Aizen's rule for his classes. If you're late, you don't get in. Simple as that.

"Let's begin. Would someone like to summarize the last lesson for us?"

He relaxes back into his seat, watching the older man and giving a tiny wince as the mark on his hip rubs against his jeans. His thoughts slip back to the scene in the office and he slips into his own little world, eyes on Aizen even though his mind is wandering. He recalls Aizen's order to think about it, to _really_ think, and does his best.

By the time the class is done, some hour and a half later, he has an answer for the older man. He's jerked back to reality and out of his vegetative state when Renji stands from the desk next to him, gathering his things. The redhead gives him a mildly concerned and equally irritated look.

"You alright, Ichigo? You were totally zoned out."

He starts to rise, retrieving his notebook and bag and storing the book. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm alright. I was just thinking."

Renji snorts and slings his own bag over his shoulder. "How come he lets you get away with that? If I tried zoning out in the royal bastard's presence he'd freaking tear me to shreds. What makes you special?"

He shrugs and calmly answers, "Maybe he just knows that I'm actually good at this, whereas you're failing. He doesn't think I necessarily need to pay attention to get everything I need, and you obviously do."

The redhead gives him a nasty look, but before he can say anything Aizen calls out from the front of the classroom, "Kurosaki, if I could speak with you before you leave?"

Renji's nasty look turns to one of victory and the taller man grins. "Man, he's about to fucking tear you apart. See you later, Ichigo." The redhead walks out of the classroom with the stream of other students and he slowly makes his way down to Aizen.

The taller man waits until all of the students have cleared out before speaking, his expression carefully neutral. "So, your answer, Ichigo?"

He gives a tiny smile and shifts his bag over his left shoulder – the one that's not bruised. "Yes, I want to do this."

"Why is that your choice?" Aizen demands, and he answers without even a moment of hesitation.

"Because I trust you," he states simply, and Aizen seems momentarily lost for words, brown eyes widening.

In the end, that's the only reason he needs. Yes, he wants it, and the idea arouses him, so why not? He trusts Aizen, implicitly, and definitely enough to believe that the older man won't abuse having that much power over him. Aizen cares for him, he knows it, so there's absolutely no reason for him to be afraid. Nervous, maybe, but never afraid.

Aizen blinks out of his surprise after a moment and gives a small smirk. "You don't have any other classes today, right?" He shakes his head and the smirk grows a little. "Then I think we can just head straight back to my place to celebrate. Don't you agree?"

He mirrors the smirk and gives a nod. "Yeah, that sounds fucking fantastic."

Aizen starts to gather things from the desk, tidying it and storing his teaching tools into one of the drawers. "I'll meet you at the car, Ichigo."

He makes a noise of agreement and heads for the exit, slipping out into the sunshine and beginning his walk back across campus in a sort of daze. What, exactly, he's just agreed to is, for the moment, still a bit of a mystery, but he's sure he'll like it. After all, sex with Aizen is _awesome_ , and that might not even be an appropriate word to describe the level of sheer amazing that it is. So how could adding an extra element to that possibly be bad? Especially when Aizen gets to dictate how that extra element is added. Even better, in his opinion.

He doesn't see it or hear it till it's too late. But as he crosses one of the large open grass areas there's a screech of tires in the distance and then a blaring horn. He turns, looks to see the cause, and blinding pain obliterates his mind as something large and metal and going _way_ too fast rams into his side. His senses go black as his head hits the ground.

* * *

He jerks up, almost comforted by the sight of the off white walls. He spots Aizen almost immediately – the older man in the middle of rising to his feet – but not the King. That's getting to be a thing, now. He's secretly suspecting that the King is just hanging around somewhere to give them time to talk before he magically reappears.

He gives a mildly frustrated sigh and stands, straightening up and wincing a little at the memory of that – car? – thing hitting him. Aizen moves towards him with a tiny frown on his face and he watches the older man approach. Naturally, _naturally_ , right in that moment his thoughts return to the universe he'd just gotten out of. A sharp flush spreads over his cheekbones and he looks away, it only gets worse as he hears Aizen chuckle.

"Good memories?"

"Oh fuck off," he snaps, calming the flush enough to make himself look back at Aizen. The older man is clearly amused, and he can't get that image of looking up at Aizen from between his thighs out of his head. "Are you…" he hesitates and hates the intensifying of the flush across his face, turning his gaze to the ground to not have to meet Aizen's eyes. "Are you really that…?"

"Incredible in bed?" Aizen finishes for him, laughing. "Better, actually. And that isn't just my own ego talking. No regular human could compare to a shinigami." He manages to look back up in question and Aizen gives a tiny shrug. "Reiatsu adds an entirely different level to sexual encounters, anyone will tell you the same." The older man smirks and an amused gleam enters his eyes. "Why do you ask, Kurosaki? Interested in me?"

He almost automatically denies it before hesitating, clamping down on the reaction. After a moment he snorts and meets Aizen's gaze. "Well it'd be a flat out fucking lie to say no, wouldn't it? The proof is all over the other universes."

Aizen watches him for a moment, his expression unreadable, before speaking. "You could have still said no. We've been through universes where the resident version of you wasn't interested in the version of me. The quincy world, or the captain-commander world."

"I barely even met you in the quincy world, and there was years of hate to block out anything in the captain-commander world. Not the greatest of examples." He gives a little sigh and raises a hand to rake through his hair. "So, what're you thinking for plans when we get back to our world?"

Aizen doesn't answer, brown eyes narrowed, and after a few moments he raises a hand to poke the older man in the chest. "Oi, you still in there?"

"Are you a virgin, Kurosaki?"

He flinches sharply, eyes widening in shock, and takes an automatic step backwards. There's no way. There's no way that Aizen seriously just asked him that question, no _way_. "I… _what?_ "

"Are you a virgin?" Aizen repeats plainly and the flush – which had _just_ gone away, damnit – returns full force.

"That's… I… None of your fucking business, Aizen," he hisses out, and Aizen's eyes light up in victory as the traitor's mouth curls upwards into a smirk.

"Oh, you _are_."

His hands clench to fists and he steels himself for the teasing sure to follow, shoulders tensing. "What of it?" he nearly snarls, more than ready to defend his decision.

Strangely, instead of the provocation and teasing he's expecting, Aizen merely cocks his head slightly to the side and his smirk fades. "Why? If you don't mind me asking, that is. It can't be for lack of participants, any number of your friends would come to your bed without hesitation. Obviously you're not asexual, so it can't be that either. So why?"

He stands there staring at the older man for a moment, lost for words. It isn't the reaction he was expecting, and the lack of the expected humiliation loosens his shoulders and his fists. Actually, Aizen raises a question he hasn't looked at for a long time. It's been a long time since he thought about sex or dating or anything similar. Not since at least the start of this whole fight against Aizen and his struggle to save Rukia.

Oh, right. That's why.

He'd realized he was gay just a few months before Rukia had come charging into his life, turning his entire world on its head. That realization had come in the middle of lunch break at his school when Orihime had tripped, her boobs had more or less landed on his face, and his only reaction had been to help her back up. That had raised some eyebrows, and gotten him an approving look from Tatsuki, and it was only upon wondering _why_ everyone was giving him weird looks that he'd really thought about it and come to the – at the time – disturbing revelation that he simply wasn't attracted to women.

Of course, it had been more of a relief than anything else after the initial – and entirely silent – freak out. And after that, well… He already had the reputation of being the school thug, and he _really_ didn't want to add in _also_ being the school's gay guy. So he'd more or less just ignored anything sexual, and that had just become habit. And by the time he was running around saving people, fighting, and doing his best just to not _die_ , he didn't think about it at all.

He sighs and looks away, giving a tiny shrug. "It isn't a widely accepted thing to be gay in the human world, and I didn't want the attention. Alright? Can we just leave it at that?"

"That excuse works up until you consider that over the course of the last year or so you've been around more shinigami than humans, and they don't have the same views."

He scowls and looks back, disliking the investigation into his private life. "Which I was supposed to know _how?_ Besides, _someone_ has been keeping me pretty busy, bastard."

Aizen doesn't react to the accusation, his voice soft and questioning. "Has no one approached you, Kurosaki?"

And there's the heart of it. No, no one's offered or asked or so much as even _hinted_ interest. He crosses his arms and straightens a little, meeting Aizen's gaze defensively. "No."

He's really, _really_ , done with this topic. He hates it even when his friends pry this deeply into his life, let alone people he doesn't know well, let alone _Aizen_. What makes it worse is that there doesn't seem to be any malice, hint of condescension, or even mocking note in the older man's gaze. Teasing he can deal with, humiliation he can deal with, anger, pain and violence he can deal with, but he isn't used to people prying because they're interested or they care.

"That's a shame," Aizen murmurs and then gives a tiny smirk and a small shake of his head. "Now I believe you asked me what I thought our plans should be when we get back to our world. Yes?"

He grasps onto the new topic with relish, grateful for the change away from his lack of a love life. "Yeah."

"Well, I would suggest that we go back to Las Noches. It is sufficiently isolated from the shinigami and will give us time to hash out the details of this plan for _both_ of us to become King. There is still the consideration of actually getting to the King's realm, and dealing with the royal guard. I intended to create a new key by destroying Karakura, but I'd imagine you're opposed to that."

"Just a little bit," he says sarcastically and Aizen gives a small shrug, smirk still in place, "Does a key already exist that we can use?"

Aizen nods, "Yes, Yamamoto keeps one of them, the royal guard has another, and a third _does_ exist but I am unaware of who controls it. Yamamoto's would be easiest to obtain, but I don't know where he keeps it."

"That, _I_ can help with." He jumps and whirls towards the voice, the King is leaning against one of the off-white walls, a small grin on his face. How long, exactly, the King has been there is up for question – if he ever even left – but he straightens up on being noticed and moves towards the both of them.

"Is your world sufficiently close enough to ours that the key would be hidden in the same place?"

The King snorts, looking between the two of them. "You have no idea, Aizen. Yamamoto's key is hidden in the first division barracks, under a fake panel on the bottom of his desk. At least, it was in my world, but it should be the same. If not, you'll have to find it on your own."

Aizen gives a small nod, and he glances between the older man and the King. "Under his desk? Isn't that… _really_ obvious?"

Aizen looks over at him, brown eyes amused. "Yes, but would you have thought to look there?"

"No, I guess not," he admits, and the King shrugs.

"No one ever said he was imaginative, either." The King gives a small grin and the air around the – practically – god visibly shivers as a wave of power washes out of the King and steals his breath for a moment. "You'll need to open the gate on Soukyoku hill, but you know that already, Aizen. Are you both ready to go back?"

He and Aizen share a glance, and the older man speaks for them. "Yes, I believe we are."

The King looks over at him for a moment and then nods, smirking. "Then good luck, and don't fuck this up, yeah?"

Another wave of power and the world around them starts to fade into indistinguishable white light. He closes his eyes as it gets too bright for him to handle and the world drops out from under him in a – by now – strangely familiar way.


	6. Chapter 6

The world solidifies around him, and he almost immediately cries out in pain as feeling returns to his body. _Fuck_. He'd forgotten how this whole thing had started in the first place, and this is not a pleasant way to remember. The sharp pain from his broken right arm, the agony of the gash in his side, and the sting of all the more minor cuts and scrapes scattered over his skin.

He grits his teeth and snaps his eyes open as he quiets another sound of pain, looking up and fixing his gaze onto Aizen's face. The older man is shaking his head as if to clear it, eyes closed, with Kyouka Suigetsu slowly lowering to rest at his side. Aizen's eyes flick open and the older man glances around, first at the battlefield, and then down at him.

"Get your foot off my chest," he asks, voice strained, and Aizen does, leaning down a bit and holding out his left hand in offering. After a moment he takes it, letting the older man pull him up and biting back a cry at the jostling of his wounds. He staggers and leans forward, resting against Aizen's chest and shoulder as he struggles just to breathe right.

"Are you alright, Kurosaki-san?"

He chokes out a laugh and leans a little more heavily. "No. You really fucked me up, before all this started."

Aizen gives a small chuckle and he manages to step back and stay standing, though with some effort. "I make no apologies, at the time I was attempting to kill you."

"I know that, I didn't ask." He straightens as much as he can and glances around, the distant clash of metal in his ears. "So, how do you want to leave? You're the one who can open a gargantua so it's kinda up to you."

"I'll call a retreat, we'll head back into Las Noches and oust the remaining shinigami there. Inoue-san can heal you, and then we can plan out a way to get this done. Sound good?"

"Yeah," he answers distantly. Aizen's voice sounds weirdly far away, and he doesn't realize he's swaying until Aizen steadies him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Kurosaki?"

"Not, so great…" he murmurs, and his eyes start to drift shut. Far away, in the recesses of his brain, the logical part of his mind sighs and shakes its head, reminding him that there's a rather large hole in his side that is _still bleeding_.

Dimly, he hears Aizen sigh and then his world shifts as the older man curls arms around him and easily lifts him. His head hangs back and his broken arm is hanging down at his side, and it really _should_ hurt, but it doesn't and that worries some part of him. Reiatsu swells around him and he inhales sharply, the rush of power clearing his head a little.

"I," he starts, but Aizen cuts him off.

"Relax, Kurosaki, I'll handle it. I'd appreciate you staying conscious though, at least until I can retrieve Inoue-san."

After the moment it takes for the words to actually make sense, he pulls his head up – the amount of effort it takes is _incredible_ – to rest against Aizen's chest and the older man adjusts to help him. "Alright," he says softly, struggling to keep his eyes open.

As if in a fog, he registers the gargantua opening in front of them and Aizen's minions – subordinates? – gathering around them. Except Tousen, in fact, he can't feel the ex-captain's reiatsu anywhere. Aizen says something and Gin takes off and returns just a few moments later, a very familiar long black sword in his left hand.

"Aizen-taichou?" Gin asks and he barely catches the slits of ice blue eyes looking at him, blood staining the thin man's white robe in a few places. He gets a brief flashback to the Gin that had befriended the version of him where _he_ was the villain. He briefly wonders if this Gin shares that one's past, and in his inner musings, he totally misses Aizen's response to the questioning tone.

Whatever it was, Gin seemed to accept it, and a moment later he's being carried into and through the gargantua. Before it shuts behind them he can feel spikes of reiatsu go off from a few people – clearly in alarm of some kind. Right, he's just kind of vanishing on them isn't he? He wonders what strange answer for Aizen taking him they'll come up with, and a tiny laugh escapes him at the ideas that spring to mind.

He loses some time in the middle of the gargantua, but comes back to himself as their group – Aizen, Gin, Stark, Halibel, and Baraggan – steps out into the throne room of Las Noches. A cry of alarm is what wakes him and he jerks a little, pulling his eyes open and looking out into the room. He gets a momentary view of Ishida – clothes tattered and bloody – standing beside Orihime before Halibel is almost instantaneously across the room and behind Ishida, her sword at his throat. He starts to voice a protest, to stop her, before Aizen's voice rings across the room.

"Halibel, that's enough. As long as dear Ishida behaves, there's no reason to harm him, hm?" The quincy's eyes are wide, but he very wisely doesn't move. "Inoue-san, would you mind healing Kurosaki-san?"

Orihime's eyes are wide and a little glittery with tears, but she immediately nods and starts forward. Aizen leans down and lays him on the cold marble of the throne room, turning to speak with the waiting members of the espada and Gin. Orihime kneels over him and he allows himself to close his eyes and fade a little as the orange glow of her shield settles over him. He can feel, in a very strange way, her powers working on him, but the only one that has any tangible feeling behind it is his arm fixing itself. It doesn't _hurt_ exactly, but it feels very odd as the bone resets.

"Feeling better, Kurosaki?"

Aizen's voice wakes him from his trance and he flicks his eyes open, focusing on the older man through the orange shield. A glance around the room tells him that everyone else but the three of them have gone elsewhere. He has a moment of worry for Ishida, but calms it with the knowledge that he's _pretty_ sure Aizen won't do anything to antagonize him at this point. Especially killing or harming his friends, the older man knows how much of a thing that is for him.

"Yeah, Ishida?"

Aizen looks up for a moment, eyes narrowing, and then back down at him. "Being escorted out of Las Noches, along with the rest of the shinigami that are still here and your friends. You can confirm that if you want, though you won't be able to feel Zaraki or either of the Kurotsuchi, they have reiatsu restraints on them to keep them from being a problem."

He closes his eyes, focusing on the collection of powerful reiatsu signatures he can feel on the far side of Las Noches. Using the remembered skill from the versions of him from the captain-commander, quincy, and villain universes he narrows it down to each person, identifying each member of the group and noting with relief that it includes everyone but the three Aizen had mentioned – which he wouldn't be able to feel – and Orihime, along with four espada. Out of them, the only thing he can feel amiss is that Byakuya is hurt, but it doesn't seem to be nearly bad enough to be life threatening.

When he reopens his eyes, the glow of the shield is gone, and he looks over at Orihime, pushing himself up to sitting. "Thanks, Inoue."

She wipes at her eyes, a bright smile on her face even though she's clearly just a few steps away from breaking into tears. "Of course, Kurosaki-kun!"

Guilt hits him hard at her expression and he leans forward without thought, gathering her into his arms and holding her. She makes a surprised squeak at the move but quickly leans into his embrace, her head lowering to rest against his shoulder. He can feel her trembling, nearly imperceptible but still clearly there, and her reiatsu is a frazzled mess against his.

"It'll be alright, Inoue," he murmurs against her hair, "I promise." She relaxes against him and he strokes a hand down her back, glancing back and noting that Aizen has pulled back to give them space, comfortably out of earshot.

"Kurosaki-kun?" she asks softly, and he makes a noise indicating he's listening. "Did you make some kind of deal with Aizen-san for everyone's safety?"

She leans back a little, looking up to meet his gaze, and he shakes his head. "Not really, no. It's kind of hard to explain, just trust me that it'll turn out alright?"

She smiles, weak and still a little scared, but determination slowly warms her eyes. "Of course, Kurosaki-kun, I'll always trust you."

He gets to his feet and pulls her up with him, looking over her shoulder at Aizen. The older man approaches and Orihime turns to look at him, stepping back. "Ready to talk, Kurosaki?"

He nods and releases Orihime. Aizen holds up Zangetsu – still in its bankai form, he should probably let himself slide back out of that – and he takes it, letting the sword hang by his right side as he relaxes his reiatsu from the automatic coil it turns into in his bankai, letting himself fade back into his normal shinigami outfit. Ripped and torn, but at least his hakama is mostly intact.

"Yeah, I'm ready. Got some clothes I can borrow, though? Las Noches is fucking cold and my clothes aren't in the best shape."

Aizen smirks even as Orihime gives a little gasp, and chuckles. "Sure, we'll make a side visit for that. Orihime, if you'll wait here Stark has orders to escort you back to your room when he's done evicting the other shinigami. That shouldn't be too long now." She nods and Aizen's gaze turns to him, the older man extending a hand towards a small side door at the side of the room. "Kurosaki?"

He gives a tiny grin and aims a reassuring nod at Orihime, following Aizen as the older man strides across the room. Even with blood staining his coat, somehow Aizen manages to look regal. He's not quite sure how the older man manages that, but it happens nevertheless. He hurries a little to catch up to Aizen and walk at the lord's side, slinging Zangetsu over his back to hook on the red chain that is one of the few pieces of his outfit still intact.

"So we're really doing this, huh?"

Aizen shoots him a glance, taking a left down another of the identical white corridors. "You made a valid point before. Exactly what choice do we have in this? We do this, or we both die horrifically, this world falls into ruin, and we start praying some other universe does it in our place. _We_ are the only pair of ourselves that know what is going on, or so I would assume. It makes no sense for us to take any other path."

"Fair enough," he mutters, slowing to a halt as Aizen stops at a door on the right and turns the knob to enter. He follows as the older man unhesitatingly crosses the small balcony – a single table with two high-backed chairs facing outwards – and enters another door on the opposite side. He pauses for a moment upon stepping into the room, immediately deciding that this _must_ be Aizen's bedroom, before walking farther in, joining the older man in front of a small closet.

Aizen scans the interior for a moment before reaching into it and retrieving what looks like another set of the older man's uniform. "They might not fit you very well, but none of my espada have your build and I have a feeling you wouldn't enjoy wearing their uniforms anyway given their rather peculiar tastes."

He takes the offered clothes with a tiny grimace. "Very true. You got somewhere I can change?"

Aizen raises an eyebrow, smirking. "After the universes we've been through? Nothing I haven't seen before, Kurosaki."

He scowls, wanting to cross his arms, but unable to due to the clothes in his arms. "Just because you've seen them doesn't mean you've seen _me_. I'm kind of private, on the off chance that you haven't fucking noticed."

Aizen shakes his head, though his smirk remains. "It was only a joke, Kurosaki. I'll be outside when you're done." The older man leaves the room, the door shutting with a soft click, and he moves to the bed, laying the outfit on the bed.

It's only a minute's work to shed the remaining shreds of his clothes, though he carefully lays Zangetsu and its chain on the bed beside the borrowed outfit. He's exceedingly thankful that his boxers have survived his many fights, though his socks and sandals are toast along with the rest of his outfit. Well, barefoot it is.

He reaches for the white hakama, sighing and pulling it on. It's too big, of course, but luckily he manages to get the ties tight enough that it only falls low on his hips as opposed to threatening to fall off entirely. There's nothing he can do about it being too long, but luckily the couple extra inches only mean they barely brush against the ground instead of dragging. They almost completely cover his feet, but they shouldn't actually impede his movement at all. The top is next and he discovers that it's held together by a zipper hidden in the black line up the center. To his immense relief the top, draping low in the back and cutting up in front, actually isn't too bad. It looks oversized, but for the most part it looks like it's intentionally oversized, and that he can live with. The v in the front drops down too low for his liking, just below his pectorals, but at least it isn't all the way to his stomach or something.

He debates the overcoat for a moment before snorting and reaching for Zangetsu's chain. Now _that_ will make him look like a strange little Aizen clone, there's no way he's wearing it. He doesn't end up putting on the red sash either, leaving both the coat and the sash lying on the bed as he secures Zangetsu over his back and heads for the door. Aizen is sitting in one of the chairs looking out over the sands of Hueco Mundo when he comes out, and he moves, without a word, to the free chair.

Brown eyes turn to him, flicking over his body and taking in the borrowed outfit with a thoughtful look. "That works better than I thought it would, actually." Aizen's gaze turns to his feet as he sits down, one eyebrow rising. "Barefoot?"

He shrugs, drawing his legs up to sit cross legged. "Mine were trashed, and there's no way your shoes fit me."

"Fair enough," Aizen says softly, and then smirks, "So, shall we get down to planning our ascension to the throne?"

* * *

In the end it's actually very simple. It relies pretty heavily on Aizen's illusions, and the idea that Yamamoto hides his key in the same place, but other than that, it's all pretty straightforward. They leave without telling anyone, heading to Soul Society masked in Aizen's powers – which he had very carefully _not_ watched.

The alarms go off just moments after they step out of the gargantua, but Aizen only smirks and leads the way with shunpo to the first division barracks. Yamamoto is absent, at least as far as he can feel, but the lieutenant is there. Shinigami scatter at their landing, but Aizen more or less ignores them and he struggles to do the same.

"This seems awfully obvious," he grumbles, following Aizen as the older man walks through the first division, scattering shinigami as they go. "At this rate we'll have all of Soul Society on our heads in minutes."

Aizen gives a tiny chuckle, flicking open a sliding door and stepping into a very formal office that he assumes is Yamamoto's. "You or I could obliterate an entire division by ourselves if we wanted to, Kurosaki. Let them come at us, if they're stupid enough to. No one, of any power, can sense us in any fashion, and no one else stands even the slightest chance." The older man moves to the desk and kneels in front of it, reaching beneath it and feeling at the wood.

"So, is it there?"

There's a click and Aizen lowers a large – but very thin – section of wood from the bottom of the desk. There's a small metal key resting on it, simple looking and completely unassuming, but he can feel the power coming off it from where he's standing at the door.

"Indeed, there it is. The King's information is correct, it seems."

Aizen grasps the key and stands, holding it loosely in the palm of his hand. "I suppose we should get to Soukyoku hill, to open the gate properly." The older man turns and casually blasts a hole in the roof with a burst of blue energy from his fingertips, he stares for a moment before memories from other lives inform him that the attack was an unvoiced kidou. Difficult to pull off, and not very powerful, but effective for surprise attacks or just for use if you're lazy. Aizen jumps up and he follows after a second, landing lightly on what remains of the rooftop before they both take off again.

He can feel gateways opening, admitting powerful reiatsu signatures, and tries to quell the worry that blooms in his chest. If Aizen has done his job right, then no one of any importance can feel them, see them, or find them in any other way. And really, what are the chances that _Aizen_ has screwed up in using his own powers?

Still, he can't help glancing in the direction of one of the gates as Yamamoto steps out of it, reiatsu heavy and powerful. The old captain-commander makes him a little wary – okay, a lot, who's he kidding? – since he can remember what it feels like to die at the hands of his bankai. Or maybe that was just his shikai, who knows? Either way, that's _really_ not something he wants to feel again, especially when it will actually end in his death and not just the death of an alternate version of him.

He lands on Soukyoku hill a moment after Aizen does, settling down and wincing a little at feeling the dirt underneath his feet. He's mildly mourning his shoes as Aizen pulls out the key, the older man's brown eyes narrowed.

Power swells as Aizen holds it out horizontally and the key glows a bright white, rising to hover in the air above the older man's hand. Quite abruptly Aizen's power drops and the older man jerks and staggers, eyes squeezing shut and a grimace overtaking his features. He steps forward, recognizing that the key is taking more of the older man's power than either of them had thought it would in their theorizing, and reaches out with his left hand. He slides it over Aizen's upturned right one and interlaces their fingers, closing his eyes and feeling the pull on his own stores of power. He relaxes his control, letting his reiatsu flow into the key and making no effort to stem or contain the output.

It's taxing, but he's always had more energy than he knows what to do with anyway. Eventually the flood he's feeding it turns into a slow trickle, and then ceases completely. He opens his eyes, giving a small gasp at the sight of the glowing doorway sitting in front of them, the key locked into the swung open door of dark wood. He looks over, and catches Aizen watching him with undisguised surprise and wonder. For a moment they both just stand there, staring at each other. Shouts break them out of the joined moment and he releases Aizen's hand, turning to look at the rest of Soukyoku hill.

There's a small horde of shinigami, though he can feel that none of them are particularly powerful, and none of them are even close to a threat. Aizen gives a small noise of amusement and he looks over to see the older man scanning the crowd, mask once again firmly in place.

"I suppose we should go, shouldn't we, Kurosaki?"

He nods in agreement, giving a tiny grin, and turns towards the door. He takes one last look at Aizen before stepping into the doorway. The light is warm, but another step brings him out of it and into a room beyond. He gets a moment to look around the room – marveling at the black marble floors with a single red rug running down the middle of it, and at the high walls covered in tapestries in rich colors – and to note the two empty thrones sitting on a raised dais at the opposite end before something strikes him hard from the side and he goes skidding across the floor.

Before he can even begin to recover he's yanked to his knees by his hair and cold metal presses tight against his throat, a low female voice hissing in his ear, "Do you think you can just walk in here, boy?!"

He hears a surprised noise to his left that he identifies as Aizen and looks over as best he can, catching sight of the older man in a similar position as the one he's in but with a different person holding the sword – a rather burly black haired man with a thick beard. He breathes slowly, sharing a look with Aizen. He can feel the power surrounding them, contained in five individuals. It's impressive, but not more than they could handle together. However it's not like there's much of a chance to fight with them being ambushed like this.

"Gonna have to tell Yamamoto off for letting anyone in here, let alone two of ya," the burly man says, and presses his blade a little harder against Aizen's throat, "Just kill 'em off."

"Wait!" he cries out as the woman behind him arches his neck back and the blade flips to press its edge against his skin. From the hesitation of the woman, and the fact that Aizen's reiatsu hasn't dropped into nothingness, he assumes that at the least he's bought himself a few seconds. "Can I say something?"

The blade pulls back after a moment and he's shoved forward onto the marble, wincing at the impact. "Talk, brat." He rolls over and looks up, locking onto the eyes of the man who'd spoken, that seems to be the leader, that currently has his sword to Aizen's throat.

"What's the harm?" he asks quickly, and gets a raised eyebrow in response. "We're here for the throne, to be Kings, not to hurt anyone or dethrone a King already here," the eyebrow drops into a forming scowl and he swallows and quickly continues. "We can't become Kings if we weren't meant to, we'll just get rejected, so what's the harm in letting us try for it?"

The woman – slender and with long black hair – speaks after a moment of silence in the room, her voice thoughtful. "The boy has a point, there really is no harm in letting them try. There _are_ two of them, and they are quite powerful, so it is a theoretical possibility that they could be the Kings of this generation."

The burly man scowls but releases Aizen, who quickly rises to his feet and turns to face the other man, backing off several steps. "I _guess_ so. Go on then, give it a go."

Aizen looks over at him and he stands, moving towards the two thrones. Aizen meets him halfway there, walking close enough for their shoulders to brush. "So," he starts very quietly, "tell me you actually know how the whole ascension thing works. Please?"

"As far as I am aware, Kurosaki, it is merely a case of touching the throne. In our case I would assume that means we each touch one of them. The information I found didn't speak of exactly _what_ happens, only that the King's realm then judges you. I suppose we'll find out, won't we?"

He steps up onto the dais, Aizen right beside him, and pauses before the two thrones. They're identical and made of some kind of black stone, simple and extraordinarily uncomfortable looking, and are positioned close enough to each other that the seam between them is nearly invisible.

"Here goes nothing, huh?" he comments, and reaches forward, seeing Aizen's hand reach out as well.

The second their fingertips touch the stone the world around them melts away, replaced with softly glowing off-white walls in a _very_ familiar configuration. He lets his arm drop and turns to look at Aizen, the older man in the midst of dropping his own arm.

"This again?" Aizen questions softly, looking over at him, and he's about to answer when Aizen's eyes meet his and his vision tunnels and blacks out.

_He stares up at the man and woman standing in front of him, the both of them looking down at the paper in the man's hands with unreadable looks. His_ _**parents** _ _, if such a term even applies in anything but a genetic sense. They're looking at his private tutor's notes – which he knows say absolutely nothing but how wonderful and well-behaved he is, and how amazing he is at all his studies – for this latest week, and he knows they'll find_ _**something** _ _to criticize. They always do._

_He has to wonder exactly how much better they expect him to be. He's only just barely eight, but he's more intelligent than the both of them combined – a certified genius, even if that knowledge is his own carefully kept secret – and there is nothing they have thrown at him that he has not mastered, memorized, and in some cases improved upon. Yet, inevitably, he's not good enough. He's starting to believe that his parents will continue to find him unworthy regardless of how amazing he is at everything, and even if he somehow manages to become a captain or better, they won't care._

_Reiatsu flickers around his mother – nothing compared to what he can command, though he's keeping that a secret too – and she sniffs, straightening up and looking down at him in disdain. "Decent, if slow. You may come to dinner tonight, Sousuke."_

_Fantastic. Another night he gets to spend under their judging eyes, if they even bother to pay attention to him, instead of eating in solitude in his room. Maybe it's not too late to make some obvious mistake so she'll revoke the invitation._

_His father looks up, the brown eyes that he's inherited narrowed. "Wear something formal, Sousuke. We're having a few members of the Kyouraku family over tonight, including Kyouraku Shunsui-_ _**taichou** _ _, and I expect your best behavior, understood?"_

_In other words, nothing will save him from their displeasure – which he has_ _**no** _ _desire to inflict upon himself again – if he makes any mistakes tonight. Still, despite the theoretical consequences, it's fascinating. He's never been invited to join a dinner with such an important guest before, it might pay to ingratiate himself with the captain while he has the chance._

_He gives a small bow of his head, his own brown eyes lowering in a parody – not that they know that – of respect. "Yes father, mother, I understand," his voice is soft and polite, a practiced tone, "thank you. May I be excused to wash up?"_

_He still has flecks of ink on his hands and a streak of dirt on his right shoulder from a misjudged parry that had landed him in the dirt, though luckily they'd come up just as his tutor had released him from sparring so they can't criticize him for it._

_His mother's silver eyes flicker in distaste and she gives a small nod, her long brown hair falling in elegant curls around her face. "Yes, Sousuke. We'll send a servant to fetch you when the Kyouraku arrive."_

_He gives another bow of his head and retreats, moving with measured steps into the western style house and up the stairs to his bedroom. His family are only minor nobles, and low ranked even in that scale, but they like to pretend they're more impressive than that, thus the extravagant house and their treatment of him._

_He's well aware that he was not, and will never be, a welcome addition in this house – he refuses to call it a home – and his parents do not consider him to truly be their son. He is their son when it suits them, and in public, but otherwise he is simply a tool to be used for greater status. A rare one, to be fair, powerful and intelligent and sure to grow into either the beauty of his mother or handsomeness of his father, but still a tool when it comes down to it. In the end, his only purpose in their eyes is to raise the family name, and how he despises that fact._

_If it were up to him he would completely abandon his name, but, at least for the moment, that isn't an option. He isn't old enough to be taken seriously in the world of the shinigami, at best he would become some division's mascot. At least his family is a known evil, and they're paying for him to be trained. By the time he_ _**is** _ _allowed to enter the academy, there won't be anything left for him to learn._

_As he enters the adjoining bathroom, his mouth curls in a small smirk. If he truly wished to, he could probably kill his family with no actual effort. Hollow attacks in Soul Society aren't common, but they do happen, and usually no one realizes until it's too late to save anyone. It would be exceedingly easy to kill both of his parents – since they'll simply dissolve into spirit particles some time after death – and blame it on a hollow. With a few choice blasts of some kind of kidou, maybe throwing some things around to break them, it would look like it too. Apart from that, it wouldn't be hard to convince anyone that_ _**he'd** _ _killed the hollow, or at least survived it. He's substantially more powerful than anyone in the rest of his family, especially his parents._

_By the time he's dressed in one of his finest kimonos, black silk with artful swirls of white, he doesn't have much time left before his personal estimated time of when their guests will arrive. He carefully sets Kyouka Suigetsu on her stand beside his bed, giving a tiny smirk at the thrum of power under his fingertips as she hisses at him for leaving her there._

_Kyouka Suigetsu – though no one is aware that he knows her name and she_ _**hates** _ _that – is a very odd reflection of himself, and isn't that just a terrible pun considering her name and powers. She is every aspect of his personality that he hides from the world. His cunning, temper, and vanity, all bundled together with a nasty cruel streak that he is beginning to recognize in his own behavior. If he were to truly be himself, he imagines they'd get along rather spectacularly, but for the moment she dislikes his attempt to hide and suppress his true nature. She understands why he does it, but she still dislikes it. While deception is a part of both of their personalities, she prefers deception planned around the desire to eventually reveal it and hurt the deceived party._

_He'd be lying if he said the idea didn't appeal to him._

" _Sousuke-sama? The guests from the Kyouraku family have arrived."_

_He turns towards the voice from beyond the door and moves to it, opening the door and giving a soft, and entirely faked, smile up at the servant. "Thank you," he murmurs, and the middle-aged woman turns away and leaves without a word._

_None of the staff particularly like him, though for most it is simply a dislike carried over because of their hatred of his parents. He doesn't really mind, there isn't actually a person he's met in his life so far who legitimately likes him except, perhaps, his tutor. And that's only because he learns so well, not because of his personality._

_He heads downstairs, catching the sound of voices from the entrance hall – for some reason his family believes having a western styled mansion is_ _**nobler** _ _– and heading towards it. He enters the room, descending the staircase that leads up one side of the room, and there's a pause in the conversation as his presence is registered._

" _Ah. Kyouraku-taichou, Kyouraku-san, this is our son, Sousuke."_

_He looks up and takes in the two guests standing there, carefully masking his surprise at the man's appearance. The pink kimono overlaying the glimpses he can see of the shinigami uniform and white captain's coat is garish, eye-catching and hideous all at the same time, and the straw hat perched on his head only adds to the appearance. Long brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail, secured with a bit of cloth though a long bang hangs on the left side of his face, and grey eyes stare out from under the hat with a warm friendliness._

_The woman is much plainer, with the same grey eyes and long brown hair, though her hair is loose about her shoulders, much like his mother's. She's dressed in a formal kimono, dark blue with pink flowers branching up her right side and shoulder, and her smile is friendly though not exactly warm. Granted, they've been speaking with his parents, so he understands why she might expect more of the same from him._

_He gives a deep bow, as befitting a minor noble to a higher ranked one, and introduces himself politely. "It's nice to meet you, Kyouraku-taichou, Kyouraku-san, I'm Aizen Sousuke."_

_There's a brief moment of silence where the woman's eyes widen a tiny bit in surprise and the man's eyes flicker with something unreadable, and then quite suddenly the man is sweeping towards him, a bright smile on his face._

" _Oh, he's just_ _ **adorable**_ _," he nearly steps backwards in a fear that he can't quite identify the cause of, but manages to control the reaction as Kyouraku bends down in front of him, "and how old are you, Sousuke-san?"_

_He swallows, not entirely sure that indulging the captain before him – who is rather overbearing in a scary way – is a good idea. "Eight, sir," he answers, and the captain before him reaches out and pats the top of his head with that bright smile, still beaming away._

" _It's nice to meet you, Sousuke-san, I'm Shunsui. Maybe we can talk later about your schooling, hm? I hear you're planning to become a shinigami."_

_No, his_ _**parents** _ _have decided that particular life choice. He, more than likely, would have chosen the same path if left to his own devices, but the fact that he has no say in the decision chafes. "If you wish, Kyouraku-taichou."_

_His mother intervenes at that moment, her silky voice sliding into the conversation with practiced ease. "Let me show you both to the dining room, Kyouraku-san, Kyouraku-taichou. Dinner should be ready without too much of a delay."_

_The two guests pull back, the woman agreeing with a soft voice and a small smile, and the captain – Shunsui – follows his mother when she leads the way out of the room, leaving him alone with his father. For a moment there's silence before his father looks over at him, dark brown eyes narrowed with that singular bang hanging between them. His father's brown hair is always styled that way, slicked back but with that single curl escaping it. He doesn't see the appeal in the haircut himself, but then his own hair is wavier than his father's and hangs around his eyes and the back of his neck._

" _Sousuke, come here." He obeys, moving closer to his father and then stifling a hiss of pain as the older man takes his left arm in a steel grip and pulls it up. He'll have bruises later, to add to the other ones from other moments of his father's temper and shows of dominance. "Do you understand what's at stake here, Sousuke?"_

_He nods and fights back the urge to blast his father full in the too-handsome face with one of the kidou that he's been working on. "Yes, father."_

_He's released and his father straightens up, sturdy shoulders pulling back. "Good, then I trust there won't be any problems tonight?" He shakes his head and his father studies him for a moment before nodding in satisfaction – and isn't that just perfect? Satisfaction when he says he won't screw up in front of a member of a major noble house, but not when he does something legitimately worthy of praise. "Then let's not keep our guests waiting."_

He inhales sharply and bites back a cry of pain, eyes widening in complete shock. His legs waver underneath him and he staggers, though he's kept from falling as Aizen grips his left arm to steady him. He feels tears burn at the back of his eyes and swallows to hold them back, turning his gaze up to Aizen's face. The older man is watching him with wide eyes, breathing just a touch faster than normal, and he jerks in shock at the _far_ too familiar face.

The man looking him in the eyes looks _just_ like Aizen's father, hairstyle and everything, and he can barely stand it. Unless the throne is playing some cruel joke on the both of them he'd just gotten dragged into Aizen's past, and _fuck_ he hadn't known parents existed like that.

"I… I was…" he starts, and Aizen's eyes flicker and then narrow.

"What did you see?" the older man demands, urgency in his voice.

He nearly pulls away from the older man, recalling that same voice – though Aizen's father's was maybe a touch higher – and those same eyes in a different person. "It was, the same thing that the King pulled us into, but as you. It," he shudders, eyes squeezing shut for a moment, "it was your childhood, when you met Shunsui."

Aizen flinches, brown eyes widening in surprise before narrowing again as the older man releases his arm. Aizen's mouth opens but before the older man can say anything his vision blacks out again.

" _Aizen Sousuke, eighth division."_

_He allows a small smile to slide across his face, standing from his seat and making his way to the front of the room to the applause of his fellow classmates. His so-called 'friends', at least they think that's what they are. He ascends the steps to the graduation stage and accepts the shinigami uniform he's handed with a bow and a smile. The patch he'll need to sew into the inside of the collar to mark himself as a member of the eighth is lying on top, and the academy instructor gives him a respectful nod as he straightens. Normally shinigami are assigned to divisions later, at this very ceremony, or may request acceptance into a specific one, but some select few are specially accepted beforehand. He doubts he'll stay in the eighth, but it's a nice gesture from his self-assigned uncle, Kyouraku Shunsui._

_He leaves the stage and returns to his seat amidst the still present cheering. He's well liked – at least, the persona he puts up is well liked – and that shows in the enthusiastic response to his graduation. He'd been very careful about that. Just intelligent and skilled enough to be close to best at everything, to graduate years ahead of the academy's schedule and mark himself as a prodigy, but not enough to distance himself from the rest of the students and make them unable to relate to him._

" _Nice going, Sousuke-san," whispers the student next to him, and he offers the random woman – who is eyeing him with poorly hidden want – a soft smile that has become a practically automatic reaction. Maybe he'll take her back to his dormitory later, if she sticks to his side for the night. It won't be the first time he's used a woman for a night of pleasure, he's starting to get rather good at turning them away in the morning without offending them._

_At eighteen – his parents hadn't allowed him into the academy until he was sixteen – he's grown into his father's good looks, remarkably so in fact. To hide that particular fact, and just to distance himself from his family's well known trait of being exceedingly attractive, he's let his hair remain the same as well as picking up a pair of glasses. He doesn't need them, but he finds it softens his face and makes him more approachable as a person. It's led to him looking rather bookish, but he much prefers that to looking the same as his father._

" _Urahara Kisuke, second division."_

_He looks up as the only student who has ever surpassed him rises. His uniform is haphazard, blonde hair shaggy and gait lazy, but nevertheless his grey eyes are sharp and intelligent. Now Kisuke, Kisuke is perhaps the only person he can actually consider a rival. The slightly younger man – sixteen, he believes – has graduated in a single year, and may even match his own genius and skill. Kisuke's lazy, but he's also unbelievably intelligent and makes no effort to hide it. It's led to Kisuke being the black sheep of the academy, both due to his attitude and his status as a Rukongai brat, though the younger man maintains his own small circle of friends. How that circle of friends manages to include seated shinigami officers he doesn't know, but somehow Kisuke has done it._

_The younger man accepts the uniform and patch with a cocky grin, giving a slight bow and then turning on his heel to move back down the stairs. The applause is decent, but not particularly loud, and centered mostly in the back where the shinigami and family of the graduates are. His parents are back there somewhere, here for appearances sake and not actually out of any wish to congratulate him for his accomplishments. He's waiting for the moment he'll have to greet them with a weary acceptance, not that he'll let that show. By this point he's simply gotten used to their habits, and while he wants no part of it, he can't publicly shun them without ruining his image._

_Eventually the ceremony draws to a close, and they're dismissed with a final round of applause that is nearly deafening. He gathers the uniform, rolling it with the patch inside, and stands. The woman beside him smiles at him and he offers one in return, noting that she follows at a discreet distance as he heads towards the back. He's waylaid halfway there by Kisuke, the younger man winding around him with the grace that makes him a perfect second division candidate._

" _Hey, Sousuke!"_

_He smiles and lowers his head slightly in something resembling respect, watching the younger man intently. "Kisuke, congratulations. I believe you've set some records."_

_The younger man snorts and grins, grey eyes sharply intelligent and focused behind the carefree front. "Little bitter 'bout that, Sousuke? I heard_ _**you** _ _were going to set the records up 'til I came in this year."_

_He gives a small shrug and has to suppress a laugh. Actually he's thankful Kisuke came along, it allowed him to show more of his intelligence than he had been without it being particularly noticed behind the flash of the Rukongai genius. "I don't mind, it was nice to have someone to compete against for the year."_

_The younger man's grin slips to a smirk, heat in his eyes. "Maybe we can compete some more later. You free tonight?"_

_This time he does chuckle, giving a tiny shake of his head. "I respect you too much for so simple an encounter, Kisuke. Though if you'd like to get dinner sometime, I am open to suggestion." It's completely honest, which is unusual for him. He respects the younger man's intelligence and skill far too much for a one night stand, though the idea itself is not unpleasant. If he's going to have any kind of interaction with Kisuke he wants it to be on a far more personal level, not just a meeting of bodies in a darkened room._

_Kisuke raises an eyebrow and then laughs, giving an equal shake of his head. "Fair enough, Sousuke. I'll get in touch with you sometime, yeah?" The younger man slides into the crowd with the same grace and he represses the urge to roll his eyes._

_Kisuke is… interesting. A match for him in almost every way and better than him in some, and he knows it. It's absurdly refreshing to have someone who actually challenges him, who actually thinks on the same level that he does. A relationship with the younger man would be absolutely magnificent._

_He moves farther into the crowd, spotting his parents near the back wall, and the woman who'd been sitting next to him – mildly pretty with long black hair and glasses over blue eyes – comes up beside him. "Sousuke, do you think you might want to leave early?" she asks softly with a heavy blush over her cheekbones, and he smiles._

" _That would be lovely," he answers smoothly, adding a touch of intensity to his gaze and nearly smirking as her flush spreads and she squirms a little. "I need to speak with my family, and there are a few other graduates I'd like to offer my congratulations to, but afterwards?" She nods and he allows his smile to grow by a fraction. "Then I'll find you later, alright?"_

_He moves away after her stuttered affirmative, murmuring congratulations to other students as he passes them before eventually coming to stand before his parents. They haven't changed, the slow pace of shinigami aging preserving their good looks just as he knows it will preserve his._

" _Sousuke," his mother says softly, a glint of faked pride in her eyes, "well done."_

_His father gives a thin smile, glancing around the crowded room. "Let's step outside, Sousuke. It's rather loud in here." Which just means his father has no desire to fake words of congratulations and would rather speak outside where no one will overhear, completely typical._

" _Of course, father," he answers with perfected politeness, and leads the way to one of the doors. He slides it and steps aside for his parents to walk through before following and shutting it behind them. The yard outside the hall is mostly deserted, though there are a few students at the opposite end lying on the grass and talking in hushed tones. It's lit by torches, but not very well, giving the large grass area a slightly mysterious feel. His parents slip across the yard to a decent distance away from the hall's thin walls before stopping, and he follows them._

" _She doesn't seem your type, Sousuke," his father starts without preamble, and he recognizes the words for the warning that they are. The Aizen family is known mostly for its looks, and the woman who'd spoken to him is not on their level._

" _I wasn't intending to marry her, father," he answers easily, shifting his grip on the bundle of clothes under his right arm. Kyouka Suigetsu hums where she's attached to his side, calling for him to put his parents in their place and stop wasting time. "She's not the first, nor will she be the last."_

_Neither of his parents so much as blink in surprise, they're both well aware of his lifestyle. In fact, his father seems to – in some way – expect it, which had almost made him stop. He has no desire to be anything like his father, even if they look more or less the same._

" _I wasn't aware you needed glasses, Sousuke," his mother says softly, but as always there is a current of disdain and demand behind her voice. His mother is used to getting exactly what she wants and on the few occasions he has denied her, he's paid a rather severe price for it._

" _I don't," he clarifies, "but I found that I am more approachable with them, and I decided that making contacts would be more useful in the long run." His parents haven't seen him, with the exception of his short summer break, in almost two and a half years, and he was very careful to leave his glasses behind during the time he'd returned to their house._

" _Approachable to that Rukongai brat? Tell me you're not keeping company with trash like that, Sousuke." His mother's voice is hard and her silver eyes are narrowed._

" _Urahara-san is a prodigy, mother, it would be wise to befriend him now before he has a position of power." Her eyes flash and she almost says something before he continues, "However, the answer is no. Urahara-san runs in different circles than I do, and both of us have been quite busy over the year he's been here. We have not had a chance to be anything but passing rivals."_

_His father makes a mildly disgusted noise and when he looks over the older man is peering down his nose in contempt. "Beaten by a Rukongai brat – that's pathetic, Sousuke."_

_He bites back the urge to draw Kyouka Suigetsu, some strange part of him wanting to defend the younger academy graduate. Rukongai brat or not, Kisuke is a force to be reckoned with and anyone who believes otherwise is a fool. "Intellect and talent can be found anywhere, father, and the fact that Urahara-san is from Rukongai does not automatically make him weaker than a noble."_

_Cold irritation flickers in his father's eyes and the older man steps forward, left hand rising to grip his right arm. He waits for the pain, but it doesn't come. His father's grip is tight around his arm, uncomfortably so, but not painful as it always has been. He glances down at it and then up the two inches in height difference between him and his father, and as he meets the older man's brown eyes he comes to a sudden revelation._

_His father no longer has any power over him._

_Even as he was growing older and more powerful, his father could always threaten and beat him into submission if he stepped out of line. There was nothing he could do or say about it, it was his father's right and any resistance would only make it worse. But now…_

" _Release me," he demands, an ice cold core of steel straightening his spine._

_There's a moment of stunned silence before his father's grip around his arm tightens – still not painful – and the older man replies in a deadly hiss, "_ _**Excuse** _ _me, Sousuke?"_

_Kyouka Suigetsu vibrates at his hip, laughing in the depths of his mind, and he allows his lips to twist in a smirk in response to her amusement. "Don't you understand, father?" he asks, and for once he makes no effort to hide the condescension in his tone. "I am no longer a child, and you no longer have the strength to control me."_

_He reaches over with his left hand and wraps it around the one holding his arm, prying his father's hand away from its grip with an ease that amazes him. How long has he been allowing his father's conditioning to cripple him? How long has he been capable of standing up to the older man like this?_

" _Sousuke!" his mother hisses, "stop this, immediately!"_

" _Or what?" he asks softly, releasing his father's hand as he looks over at his mother. "What do you have to threaten me with, mother?"_

" _We'll disown you!"_

_He laughs. He honestly, truly, laughs. "Then do it, mother," he says after quieting the outburst of amusement, "we both know that the_ _**only** _ _thing that the Aizen family has to its name is me. And with that fact, let me dictate our interactions from now on." He pauses for a moment to look at the flush in his mother's cheeks and the icy fury in his father's eyes._

_"You will not contact me in any fashion, you will not spread rumors about me in any fashion._ _**If** _ _we meet for any event it will be by_ _**my** _ _invitation, and you will graciously accept. You have no say in the company I keep, the women – or men – I may date, or any of my personal or public dealings. I_ _**will** _ _use the family fortune if I wish, though chances are that I will not, and my own wealth will be mine and mine alone. Any breach of or complaint about these rules and I will drop the name of Aizen in a heartbeat and choose a new one for myself." He allows himself another smirk, eyes narrowing just a bit as deep satisfaction wells in his chest. "Who knows, Kyouraku-taichou may be willing to adopt me into his family."_

_It feels good,_ _**so** _ _good, to be able to free himself from the oppression of his father. To allow himself to relax and no longer worry about what he says or how he acts in front of his parents is absolutely wonderful, and he is enjoying every moment of the anger and shock in their gazes._

" _Are we clear, father?"_

_The fury in the brown eyes dims and of all things his father chuckles, the tension in the older man's frame easing. "Ah, Sousuke. An Aizen at last, hm?" His stomach drops and his smirk flickers. "Of course, we're clear." His father turns, one powerful arm sliding around his wife's shoulders. She looks mildly surprised, but his father only turns a knowing smile on him, brown eyes narrowed and swirling with dark amusement. "I look forward to our next meeting, son, whenever it might be. Welcome to the family."_

_He's speechless as his father strides across the yard and out of sight, staring sightlessly down at the grass. That was… not what he was expecting. He sways a little on his feet and his eyes slam shut as the second revelation of the night hits him._

_He's played right into his father's hands._

_It's sickening, leaving him physically queasy, and the humiliation of the moment burns into his chest. The knowledge that his moment of crowning glory, of finally stepping away from his father's tyranny, has all been some long expected result… It just leaves him feeling used, like the tool his parents have always seen him as, and the feeling brings shame with it. How could he be so_ _**stupid** _ _? For a genius, he's certainly been played brilliantly, and by a man he never thought was his superior in any sense._

_He inhales shakily, grip tightening on the clothes under his arm, and lets his eyes slide open again. He can't afford this right now. The students, that woman, and undoubtedly Kyouraku-taichou, since he severely doubts the older man will miss his graduation, are expecting him back inside the hall. He_ _**can't** _ _betray how shaken he is right now, he_ _**can't** _ _._

_A tiny, bitter, smirk quirks his lips. And he's been taught better hasn't he? He's been taught to control his emotions and his reactions, and portray a perfect mask to hide everything he doesn't want the outside world to see. Taught by his_ _**bastard** _ _of a father._

_He straightens and eases the tension in his shoulders through pure force of will, relaxing and carefully tamping down his reiatsu until it reflects only a placid pool and not the frazzled coil it had been. After that, it's the work of barely even a moment to wipe his face of all emotion, before pasting a soft smile on his face. This is easy. This is something he was doing long before his father got around to teaching him how._

_He turns and heads for the hall._


	7. Chapter 7

He's on his knees when he comes back to himself, staring at the ground with tears blurring his vision. They haven't escaped yet, still lingering in his eyes, but they threaten to at any moment. Oh _god_. No wonder Aizen has turned out the way he is.

"Kurosaki, _look_ at me."

He looks up without thinking about it, finding Aizen similarly on his knees before him, and has to suppress a shudder at the nearly identical looks. No, he can't think like that. Regardless of the similarities, Aizen is _not_ his father, the reiatsu he can feel escaping the traitor's control should be proof enough of that. He looks at Aizen, really _looks_ , and that manages to ease the borrowed tangle of emotions. Aizen's hair is a touch darker and wavier than his father's – just as the child had noted – and combined with the tiny differences in facial structure, it's enough to relax him.

"I suppose I should assume you're being pulled through my past?" Aizen asks with a laugh, and if he hadn't gotten the inside look at the older man's mind, he probably wouldn't have picked up on how strained it is. Aizen's tone is perfect to an outsider, but to him it's full of carefully hidden bitterness and pain.

"Bits of it," he manages, swallowing back the lump in his throat and closing his eyes. After a moment he manages to fight back the tears enough to reopen his eyes. "You?"

A tight smirk twists Aizen's lips as he responds, "The same. Unpleasant bits and pieces, pivotal moments I suppose."

He winces, eyes closing for a brief second at the thought of his own past, and snorts. "Think this is the throne judging us?"

"Then I'd imagine we're both quite unworthy. That _must_ come later."

The world goes black.

_He presses down into Kisuke, relishing the arch of the pale back and the bitten back cry of pleasure. "Enjoying yourself, Kisuke?" he asks with a well deserved tinge of smugness, smirk very firmly twisting his lips._

_Kisuke pants, pulling against the grip he has on the younger man's wrists. "You're a basta- Ah!" A sharp thrust and a simultaneous twist of his free hand – which is quite securely wrapped around Kisuke's cock – cuts the younger man off. He leans down and places a soft kiss to the skin just below Kisuke's ear, and then another to the darkening mark he'd placed – earlier in their encounter – on the side of the younger man's throat. He can feel Kisuke trembling against him and allows himself a moment of pride for that._

_He's been looking forward to this night for weeks, since Kisuke had agreed to date him on a more long term basis. The younger man had been pushy and demanding, but once he'd made it clear that he was at least a little old fashioned and wasn't intending to just straight out fuck him, Kisuke had calmed down. In the end he'd waited almost a month and a half, and he's making sure that it's a night Kisuke won't forget for a very long time. He's rather less experienced with men than women, but a slightly awkward conversation with Shunsui and his own research has more than prepared him._

_Kisuke twists under him and the younger man bites at his bottom lip, hands clenching where he has them pinned to the small of the other man's back. It's his personal way of gauging how far he's pushing Kisuke. While he_ _**is** _ _physically stronger than the younger man due to their respective builds, there's no way he could actually pin Kisuke if the younger man didn't allow him to. After all, Kisuke is being trained in second division tactics, and he's pretty sure by this point that Kisuke can break any hold he can get him under due to that training._

_So as long as Kisuke allows his pin, he knows the younger man is enjoying himself._

_He sets a pace that's leisurely and – he's sure – absolutely maddeningly slow, rolling his hips in deep thrusts. Below him, Kisuke arches and breathes harshly against the sheets of the bed, grey eyes squeezing shut. He gives an equally slow stroke along Kisuke's cock and closes his eyes for a moment at the whine of frustrated pleasure he receives for his efforts._

" _Sousuke…" the younger man hisses, and he presses lips against the back of Kisuke's neck, smirking._

" _Yes, Kisuke?" he asks softly, feeling the younger man shudder against him._

" _Stop teasing, yeah?" Kisuke says in a trembling voice, and he can hear the thread of desperation in the younger man's tone. Understandable. This won't be Kisuke's second or even third orgasm of the night, he can imagine the younger man is stretched pretty thin at this point._

_He releases Kisuke's wrists and bends to press a kiss over the younger man's spine, between his shoulder blades. "All you ever had to do was ask, Kisuke," he murmurs._

_He leans back and moves his free hand to Kisuke's hip, gripping tight enough to hold but not enough to bruise. In an instant he turns his slow, rolling, pace hard and fast, slamming deep into the younger man with each thrust forward. Kisuke arches and cries out in response, his freed hands clenching handfuls of the sheets in white knuckles. At the next thrust he moves his hand in a synchronized stroke along the younger man's cock, and has to bite back a moan at the clench of muscle around his own dick._

_He doesn't even have to ask to know that Kisuke is at the breaking point, and that knowledge brings his long held back release rushing forward with the force of a tidal wave. Still, with the iron control he's so perfected over the years, he forces it back down._

" _Sousuke!" Kisuke gasps, and a moment later the younger man goes stiff and still for a long moment before shuddering and giving a deep moan. He can feel Kisuke's cock pulse in his hand before wetness spreads, smearing over his hand and undoubtedly the sheets beneath them. He relaxes his control, feeling the orgasm build at the base of his spine as he slams into the younger man. It explodes out of him just a few moments later._

_He shudders and groans, leaning down over the heaving back of his bedmate and pressing his forehead down against Kisuke's shoulder as the release courses through him. Kisuke gives a muffled groan, twitching beneath him, and he grits his teeth to tamp down the urge to bite into the younger man's skin. Once he can think straight again he releases Kisuke and drops down to rest at the right side of the younger man, calming his breathing and letting his eyes shut to linger in the afterglow._

" _Just one?" Kisuke asks breathlessly, and he flicks his eyes back open to look at the younger man. Kisuke is watching him, grey eyes tired but curious, and a tiny frown creases the younger man's forehead. He doesn't have to ask to know what Kisuke is talking about. While he had driven Kisuke into four separate orgasms, he had not indulged in the same for himself, he never does._

_He gives a small smirk, reaching out with his left hand and brushing Kisuke's ash blonde hair away from his eyes. "I find my pleasure in driving my partners out of their minds," he murmurs, watching the younger man shiver under his touch, "not in my own releases."_

_Kisuke watches him for a moment before shrugging and pushing himself up to sitting with a light smile before wincing. "Oh, I'm going to be sore for_ _**days** _ _."_

_He chuckles, rolling onto his back and watching the younger man stand and start to gather their discarded clothes from the ground. "Think of it as a reminder," he says softly, and Kisuke snorts._

" _I'll be sure to tell Yoruichi-taichou that when she asks why I'm out of commission." Kisuke's tone is light, teasing, and the blonde tosses his uniform at him with a grin._

_He catches it and rises from the bed, starting to redress. "Alternatively, you could just tell her you were sparring, if you'd rather not spread this night around."_

_Kisuke offers another grin, one eyebrow rising. "Do you normally give your sparring partners hickeys, Sousuke?"_

_He smirks and tosses the top half of his uniform back onto the bed, stepping forward and lightly capturing Kisuke's wrists in his hands. "Only when I like them," he says quietly, bringing the younger man's wrists up one at a time to press light kisses to the pale skin, "unless they ask nicely."_

_Kisuke tugs his wrists away and shakes his head with a smile. "You're quite the piece of work, Sousuke," the younger man states before turning for the door._

_He watches as Kisuke slides open the door, and his smirk flickers as it opens to reveal two people leaning against the opposite wall. Two people, that during his month and a half in service to the eighth, he's become_ _**quite** _ _familiar with. The first is Yadomaru Lisa, the eighth's sixth seat, her black hair loose around her shoulders, and the second is the fifth's vice-captain, Hirako Shinji, strangely straight teeth bared in a grin._

" _So?" Shinji asks cockily, and his stomach drops as Kisuke leans casually against the doorframe, the younger man completely at ease and obviously expecting this._

" _You owe Lisa and me money, Shinji. He's absolutely_ _ **fantastic**_ _." He restrains the urge to step backwards at the words as Shinji curses and shoves off the wall._

" _Damn! I knew that was a bad bet." Lisa laughs, Kisuke echoes it, and he feels anger stir in his chest at the noise. No, Kisuke is better than this, isn't he? Hasn't he spent the last month and a half making sure that Kisuke wasn't like one of the other hundred men or women following him around for the chance to warm his bed? Had the younger man really spent all this time with him just for some bet?_

_He steps forward as Kisuke slips through the door, raising his right hand to rake through his hair as he leans against the opposite side of the wooden frame. "May I ask what the bet was?" His tone is soft, the anger and something dangerously close to_ _**hurt** _ _hidden behind his perfected mask. No one looking will see anything but curiosity and amusement._

_Lisa offers him a smile, eyes flickering over his still bare torso, and he gives no reaction to the blatant eyeing. Let her look if she wants, he's fairly sure that after her next words there will be absolutely no chance he'll ever bed her._

" _Actually, we had two bets going," she says, a touch of hunger in her tone, "the first was how good you actually are in bed, which Kisuke and I just won with the guess that it couldn't_ _ **all**_ _be talk, and you had to be pretty damn mind blowing to get the reputation you have. The second was how long it'd take Kisuke to get you to fuck him, which none of us are collecting anything on since you held out_ _ **way**_ _longer than any of us thought you would."_

_He gives a tiny hum of understanding, carefully controlling his reiatsu and expression to not reveal the disgust and anger starting to build into a dangerous ball of energy in his chest. "I see, mind if I ask why you picked me as the subject of your bets?"_

" _That's easy," Lisa smirks, her green eyes returning to their wandering of his skin, "you're an Aizen." The easy statement hits him like a blow to the gut, and for a brief moment his mask drops as a wave of pure fury crashes into his mind and wipes out all thought but the urge to slaughter all three of them. His left hand twitches to grasp the sheath of a sword that isn't there, and the absence of it under his fingertips brings him back down. He has himself under control again the second afterwards, eyes flickering over the group to see if they'd noticed._

_Lisa's eyes are still firmly involved with visually molesting him, and Kisuke is turned away, but Shinji is watching him with sharp wariness. So, Shinji had seen his momentary loss of control. That is going to make things_ _**interesting** _ _later on. The vice-captain visibly swallows and straightens, and he recognizes the flawed mask of someone not entirely skilled at the art of hiding emotion._

" _I mean, you must know how famous your family is for its looks," Lisa continues, oblivious, "The chance to fuck one of you,_ _ **so**_ _worth taking."_

_He forces out a chuckle that still manages to sound natural, letting his head tilt to rest against the doorframe, and Shinji clears his throat. "Let's go, huh? It's pretty late and I'm sure Aizen would like to get some rest before tomorrow."_

_Lisa agrees with some reluctance, starting off down the corridor, and Shinji follows her after a moment. Kisuke lingers and turns back to him, an easy smile twisting the lips of the younger man. "If you want me to stay, I'm game. I don't normally stick around after a fuck, but I'd make an exception for you."_

_Does Kisuke truly not understand the significance of what he's done? The younger man_ _**must** _ _,_ _at the very least, know that he cares more than just wanting a single night, that he wouldn't have courted him for so long if he had only intended this to be a friends with benefits deal. But then the only possible answer is that Kisuke_ _**does** _ _know his feelings, and simply doesn't think that this will change anything. Perhaps the younger man merely expects that he won't care about the bets. If so, he's sorely mistaken._

_There's not many things that Kisuke could have done to break his respect and trust faster and cleaner than to remind him so brutally that, in the eyes of the public, he is an Aizen above all else. He'd thought the younger man saw what he was behind the persona he's built, that a shared intellect meant more than his status as an Aizen, but apparently he'd been wrong._

_He gives a tiny smile, mask carefully in place. "How long did you think I'd wait?" he asks softly, and Kisuke's eyes widen in surprise before the younger man laughs. The sound bites at him, driving the betrayal deeper, and he struggles to remain visually unaffected._

" _I said four days or nights, whenever we spent together." Well, that explains why the younger man had been so pushy at the start. "Do you want me to stay?"_

_He almost laughs, but manages to repress the reaction down to a small smirk. "No, you should return to your division and get some sleep."_

_Kisuke shrugs and steps forward, right hand coming forward to rest on his chest as the younger man leans in for a kiss. He straightens off the doorframe and turns his head away, feeling Kisuke's lips brush against the side of his jaw. The younger man draws back and he can feel the confused vibration of Kisuke's reiatsu against his senses._

" _Sousuke?"_

_He gives a short amused noise but doesn't look back at Kisuke, reaching up with his left hand to pull the younger man's hand off his chest. "I think," he says softly, "it's Aizen, Urahara-san." He takes a single step backwards and releases his grip, moving his left hand to the edge of the sliding door as he lets himself take a last look at Kisuke – no, Urahara. "Good night," he says with cool politeness, "and good luck in your endeavors."_

_He shuts the door in Urahara's face, ignoring the wide grey eyes, and turns back to his bed. However, the idea of sleep doesn't hold any appeal to him. He's too wound up, has too much emotion bottled under his mask that he can't possibly let out here. He needs to go somewhere, needs to get out and vent either at something or to someone._

_His first thought is Shunsui, but he shuts that down almost instantaneously. Not only is the older man his captain now but Shunsui has never seen anything past his mask, and he has no desire to reveal anything else of himself to the older noble. Let Shunsui continue to believe that he is the quiet, bookish, shinigami he appears to be._

_His lips twist in a thin smirk. Well, there's really_ _only one other option, isn't there?_

_While he doesn't particularly want anything to do with his father, the older man_ _**is** _ _the only other viable person he can speak to. His father knows that he's not what he acts like, so he'll have no need to pretend around him. He can be himself, vent as himself, and his father won't be surprised by it. As a bonus, he can't stomach the idea of someone being sympathetic or pitying towards him right now, and he's not even entirely sure his father knows what those particular emotions feel like, so there's no danger of that._

_Mind made up, he redresses and then moves to the window, snagging Kyouka Suigetsu from the top of his dresser along the way and sliding her into his sash. She hisses in outrage and he gets a flash of long white hair and narrowed blue eyes in his mind before she speaks._

" _ **Sousuke…"**_

" _I know," he answers easily, speaking in barely more than a murmur, "let me speak with my father, then we can decide what payment is due." She voices agreement, fading into the back of his mind even though he can still feel her fury reflecting his own._

_He slides the window open and pulls a foot up to the sill, pushing out of it in shunpo without hesitation. His family's house is at the edge of Seireitei, clustered with the rest of the minor noble houses, and even with his best speed, it's ten minutes travel. He doesn't use his best, so it takes almost seventeen. Someone would inevitably notice a shinigami moving that fast, and wonder where they're headed. If he limits himself it's less suspicious, and he wants no attention called to him right at the moment._

_His stomach still turns a bit as he lands in the front yard of his house, looking up at it. He hadn't thought to come back here for a long time, if ever. Yet, here he is._

_He strides forward, easily masking his emotions, and opens one of the sides of the double door leading inwards. It swings open easily and he steps inside, quieting the mess of emotion that sparks as his eyes flick around the familiar settings. As he lets the door swing shut a servant appears, a younger black haired woman that he distinctly remembers from his youth. She descends the stairs in a hurry, giving a low bow as she approaches._

" _Aizen-sama, it's a pleasure to see you again!"_

_He almost laughs. Yes, of course it is. Even if she – and the rest of the staff – had hated him as a child, now that he's grown and can actually do anything about it, it's a_ _**pleasure** _ _. He's not in the mood for this right now, not in this house._

" _No it isn't, and I'd prefer if you not lie to my face in an attempt to appease me," he nearly snaps. Her eyes widen in shock and he gives a cutting smile that makes her pale and step backwards. "Where is my father?"_

_She swallows before stuttering out, "The study, Aizen-sama."_

_He moves away without another word, a single step of shunpo taking him to the top of the stairs before he turns left and continues down the hall to the first door on the right. He steps inside without knocking or calling out or anything, and his father – sitting in one of the two armchairs before the fire, looks up at his entrance. Brown eyes widen in momentary surprise before the mask slips back down and his father gives a small smirk._

" _Sousuke, I wasn't expecting to see you for at_ _ **least**_ _a few more months," he lets the door shut and strides across the fire-lit room to stand by the other armchair, "yet here you are. To what," his father pauses and then gives a small laugh, "or should I say_ _ **who**_ _do I owe the pleasure?"_

_He doesn't need to voice his confusion, or even really show it. The barest flicker of the emotion in his eyes prompts a smirk from his father. "Sit down if you like, Sousuke, I won't bite." He takes the invitation after a moment's pause, easing into the armchair and meeting his father's gaze. "To answer your unvoiced question, I can smell the sex on you from here and even if I couldn't, there are stray traces of your partner's reiatsu on you." Of course, he should have known better than to be so careless. "So? I imagine whatever happened must have shaken you quite severely if you felt the need to seek_ _**me** _ _out, given your dislike – perhaps bordering on hatred."_

_He watches his father for several long moments and the older man returns his gaze without so much as a twitch. "Urahara Kisuke is the one you should be thanking," he says softly, and his father raises an eyebrow._

" _The Rukongai brat?" He murmurs agreement and turns his gaze to the fire in front of them. "Not the greatest of your choices, Sousuke. Those from Rukongai can be fascinating, but are hardly ever worth the complications that come with them. Did he do something specific, or did you simply realize the respective difference in class?"_

_He almost leaps to Urahara's defense before quelling the urge, letting his eyes flicker shut as he gives a soft snort of bitter amusement. "He reminded me, quite expertly, of what I am. And, perhaps the worst of it, is that he didn't appear to understand why I would have issues with being bet upon behind my back." A glance over at his father provides him with a cool mask of indifference, but his own experience with masks lets him pick out the curiosity in the identical brown eyes. "I was chosen as the subject of two bets. How good I was in a sexual sense and how long it would take Urahara to bed me. I suppose it was foolish of me to assume that Urahara might be able to understand me simply because we share a level of intellect."_

_His father makes a sound of amusement, and when he looks over the older man's eyes are turned towards the fire. There's a knowing glint in his father's gaze, a thin smirk on his face, and the lack of teasing or humiliation actually relaxes him by a fraction. "You don't seem at all surprised, father."_

_His father looks back at him, one eyebrow raised. "That would be because I'm not, Sousuke. Like it or not, you're an Aizen, and it's too late to do anything about that now. You might try to hide it beneath that hair and the glasses – which I notice you left behind – but in the end all anyone has to do is look at you to know your heritage."_

" _And is that_ _ **all**_ _I am?" he demands, eyes narrowing, and his father gives a small shake of his head._

" _No, but it is all people will ever see. You may as well get used to it, Sousuke, Urahara's behavior is the least of what people will attempt." His father pauses, watching him for several long moments, before continuing. "It doesn't matter what you accomplish, Sousuke, not really. Even if you become a captain, you will be_ _ **Aizen**_ _-taichou, not Sousuke. The world will only ever see you as an Aizen, so you should start to think like one."_

" _What do you mean?" he asks softly, and his father smirks._

" _The Aizen family is known only for its looks, Sousuke, and we've cultivated that to be our defining feature. But beauty is useless without a brilliant mind behind it." Suspicion settles in his chest, blanking out some of the emotion, as his father continues. "Let people believe that we are nothing more than pretty faces if they wish, but never allow_ _ **yourself**_ _to believe it for even a moment. Conceal your mind, your skill, your cunning, and your ruthlessness behind your looks, and twist those around you to be loyal to that persona. If, or when, you strike, no one will believe you capable of the damage you can inflict."_

_He absorbs the information, eyes narrowed, and finally answers in a smooth tone, "Is that truly how you expect me to behave, father? I think you've overestimated my ability to be like_ _**you** _ _."_

_His father bursts into laughter, head tilting back in the pure expression of amusement, and when the older man finally quiets a large smirk still remains. "Please, Sousuke. Lie to others, lie to me if you wish, but don't lie to yourself. I was_ _**taught** _ _to be this way, but I never had to do the same to you. You are an Aizen at heart, more so than me or any other member of our family."_

" _I'm not-"_

" _What is your sword's power?" his father demands, smoothly cutting him off._

" _Kyouka Suigetsu creates a mist that covers the battlefield and changes my enemy's perception of friend and foe." The lie is easy, one he'd concocted with Kyouka herself once he'd discovered her name. While she doesn't enjoy being portrayed as something she's not, she understands the necessity of it._

_His father's eyes are amused and the older man gives a soft laugh. "Bullshit, Sousuke. Why don't you tell me Kyouka Suigetsu's_ _**real** _ _power?"_

_He's speechless for a brief moment before his lips press tightly together and he reevaluates the man before him. It's obvious that his father knows far more than he lets on, and he has to wonder how much the older man actually knows about him. Does his father know the extent of his genius, of his powers, of his skills?_

" _Kyouka Suigetsu," he starts softly, and she purrs in his mind with satisfaction at finally being named as what she is, "is illusion based. When I activate her release anyone who sees it is caught under the hypnosis she casts, permanently as far as I am aware, and from that point on I can switch whether they see my illusions or not as I wish. My illusions cover all the senses, reiatsu included, though obviously I cannot recreate something I have no experience of. Her only weakness, as far as I know, is the requirement that my opponent must_ _ **see**_ _the release."_

_His father gives a smirk and raises an eyebrow. "And you still choose to argue that your true nature is not deception, Sousuke? Come now, you're smarter than that." It bites to admit it though, and he turns his gaze away and back to the fire. "Accept who you are, Sousuke, it will make life easier in the long run. People will not understand your true personality, I'm sure you know that, but that does not mean you need to or should hide it from yourself."_

_Accept what? That he is smarter than anyone he has ever met except Urahara? That at eighteen, he holds enough power to match a vice-captain? Even better, that he actually has the_ _**skill** _ _to use that power? What about that no one, except his bastard of a father, has ever been able to see past his mask, and most likely no one ever will? Or that he is cold and ruthless and logical naturally, and his father is_ _**right** _ _?_

_His father is right._

" _What are you trying to force down my throat, father?" he asks, pulling every inch of his pride forward. It doesn't help. He can hear the note of tired defeat in his own voice, and if he can hear it that means his father can too._

_His father gets to his feet, moving to stand beside his armchair. He almost flinches when a warm hand settles on his right shoulder, but he doesn't look up. "Perhaps the most useful thing my own father ever told me was this, Sousuke. An Aizen doesn't have an equal."_

_Anger stirs and he stiffens under his father's hand, snorting. "Except you, of course," he snaps, and his father gives a low hum of amusement and withdraws his hand._

" _Did I ever claim to be your equal, Sousuke?" his father asks softly, and that gets him to turn his head. He watches his father move across the room to the desk at the opposite end of the small room, slowly getting to his feet._

" _What?"_

_His father looks back at him from where the older man is rifling through the top drawer of the desk, one eyebrow raised. "You already know it to be truth, Sousuke, I shouldn't have to tell you." His father straightens and turns, shoving the drawer shut and standing tall. "I have never claimed, nor will I_ _**ever** _ _claim, to be your equal. Normally I would have taught you that you would only find equals inside our family, but in your case, that isn't true and never will be. Even for an Aizen you stand on a level of your own, Sousuke." His father gives a thin smirk and his head tilts slightly to the side. "You simply don't have an equal, and I doubt you'll ever find someone capable enough for the title."_

_The simple statement eases something in him, and like his father has pulled some kind of inner plug, his emotions simply drain out of his system, leaving behind only the cool logic of his mind behind. It's true, and hadn't Urahara driven that home for him? The younger man matched and – he'll admit this only to himself – perhaps even exceeded his genius, but despite that he was still stronger, and clearly Urahara didn't understand the first thing about him. Even to Urahara, who could speak and debate at his level, he was nothing more than an Aizen. What are the chances, realistically, that he'll find anyone else with an intellect as high as his? And of those chances, what's the likelihood that person will_ _**also** _ _be able to see beneath his mask, and match his power?_

_Nonexistent._

He can't stop the cry of denial that rips itself from his throat as he comes back to himself, a thick shudder wracking his frame. No, _no,_ _ **no**_. It's not true, it _can't_ be. Aizen can't truly be that disillusioned and that resigned. It contradicts the entire image he's built up of the older man, all that smooth intellect, and confidence, and an impenetrable core. How could Aizen have lived through two hundred years thinking like that?

"Kurosaki!"

He almost instinctually lashes out as a hand curls around the side of his neck and pulls his head up none too gently, forcing his gaze up to meet Aizen's. "Do _not_ lose yourself, Kurosaki. We can't afford it at the moment." He breathes shakily, staring into the brown eyes, and he catches hidden pain in them that would have been indecipherable to him before.

Before he can think about it or curb the urge, he pushes forward and wraps his arms around Aizen, burying his face in the crook of the older man's neck. "You stupid fucking _bastard!_ " he manages, clenching hands in the white cloth of the other man's uniform.

Aizen stiffens against him, barely breathing, and the reaction wakes all of his instincts as a protector. In some strange way that he will _not_ be examining right now Aizen is important to him, and he doesn't ever let the people important to him suffer. He grips tighter for a moment and then releases the older man, leaning back and glaring up at him.

"You're a fucking idiot," he snaps, and Aizen's eyes widen in clear shock. It's not exactly the emotion he was looking to inspire, but it'll do for now. "Equality isn't as black and white as you want it to be, and just because someone isn't as smart or powerful as you, doesn't make them worthless! Can't you _see_ that?!"

The world goes black before Aizen can respond.

_He's in the air when he feels Yamamoto's reiatsu step out of a gateway, and immediately he rechecks his illusions. Even if he could be completely sure about his ability to defeat the old man - which he most certainly is not - they can't afford the distraction right at the moment. So it's really better that he just avoids the possibility all together. If Yamamoto was to discover them, things would get messy very quickly._

_He feels Kurosaki's reiatsu flicker in response, and he can feel the wariness in it. Right, one of Kurosaki's alternate lives had died in Yamamoto's flames, hadn't it? He imagines that's probably not the best of memories to have, and is probably contributing to Kurosaki's nervousness._

_He lands on Soukyoku hill easily, taking only a single glance behind him to insure that something terrible has not happened to Kurosaki - which he wouldn't put past the boy, he seems to draw trouble like a magnet - before reaching into his robes and withdrawing the unassuming metal key. He might wonder about its validity, if he couldn't feel the power surrounding it. It stings at his palm even as he holds it, sharp needle pricks of pain that demand he release it at_ _**once** _ _. Now, if his research is correct, it should be a simple matter of feeding the key enough energy to create a gate to the King's realm. It should be nothing he can't handle, not with the power he has._

_He holds it out in the palm of his hand - more for show and ease of concentration than any tangible reason - and opens his reserves, letting his reiatsu spill into the air around him before gathering it and turning it on the key. It responds almost instantaneously, glowing a bright white and rising to float above his hand._

_Then, without warning or any kind of tell, quite suddenly the key's slow intake of energy turns into a gaping maw. He jerks and staggers at the abrupt loss of power, eyes squeezing shut and brow furrowing in a grimace as the key hooks sharp claws into his stores. His instincts scream to close the flow of power, and in the back of his mind Kyouka Suigetsu shrieks a warning at him as his illusions falter for a brief moment. He stabilizes them as well as he can, though they're not_ _**nearly** _ _up to his usual par, since the key won't let him stem or even control the power it's taking from him._

_He has a moment of worry that the key is some kind of trap that will simply devour his reiatsu without ever stopping, before skin touches his and fingers interlace with his own. His eyes snap open and he looks over, finding Kurosaki beside him._

_The younger man closes his eyes and just… relaxes. There is no other word to describe it. Kurosaki's control slips away and power floods out of the younger man, breaking over him like warm water at a beach. The key releases its hold on him and turns its sights on the feast laid out before it, absorbing Kurosaki's power without pause. He watches in awe - an emotion he has almost no experience with - as Kurosaki simply allows the key to take what it needs, an apparently limitless supply of energy being brought forth from the depths of the younger man's soul._

_How Kurosaki has ever been defeated, if the younger man has_ _**this** _ _ridiculous a supply of reiatsu, he can no longer fathom. Though, to be honest, Kurosaki has always been unfathomable to him. A mix of so many different things – shinigami, human, hollow, and now he knows the boy is part quincy too – that he should spend all his time fighting the opposing sides of himself, and yet Kurosaki improves, learns and grows at an absolutely amazing rate. To add to that is a formidable and unwavering desire to protect anyone the younger man considers important, even to the extent of self sacrifice, that he's never seen in anyone even remotely as powerful as Kurosaki._

_Though that desire to protect is a little absurd, considering how quickly Kurosaki absorbs people into his circle of friends and allies. Kurosaki doesn't – can't – know, but he doubts there are more than a handful of people left in the upper ranks of Soul Society that wouldn't lay down their lives for the younger man in a heartbeat. And yet still, somehow, Kurosaki had been left to shoulder almost all of the war on his own. How can Soul Society possibly be that callous and oblivious?_

_True, the visual age of a shinigami is hardly ever representative of their actual age – Hitsugaya is almost fifty if he remembers correctly – but that doesn't apply for Kurosaki. The boy had only been fifteen at the start of all this, and he's barely seventeen now. Kurosaki looks older, and perhaps that has led the residents of Soul Society to forget the teenager's true age, but the reminder of his youth can be seen in his eyes._

_The younger man is so young, so innocent, so naïve, and so blind to all the horrors that exist in their world. There has to be a part of Kurosaki that knows this, he'd seen the recognition of the truth of his outburst in the King's room reflected in the younger man's gaze. He'd seen the slight yield of brown eyes and the impotent anger in them as Kurosaki had stared at him._

_But then he has also continuously underestimated Kurosaki, regardless of the universe. Perhaps Kurosaki is fully aware of how unfair it is that he has so much weight on his shoulders, perhaps Kurosaki_ _**knows** _ _how foolish Soul Society is in believing that he is their only hope. True, apart from Yamamoto, Kurosaki is the only person he is aware of that stood even the smallest of chances against him, but that chance was still miniscule. And perhaps, Kurosaki knows that._

_In the captain-commander world, he had underestimated Kurosaki's determination, and in the slave world, it had been his loyalty. Then the Aizen of the universe where Kurosaki had taken his place as ruler of Las Noches had just underestimated that Kurosaki in general. As a quincy it had been skill, and finally the college professor version of him had been completely floored by the ease with which Kurosaki trusted and the depths of that trust._

_By that pattern, he must be underestimating his own Kurosaki in some way. But regardless of_ _**what** _ _exactly he is missing, he knows when the moment occurs and it is revealed that he will not expect it._

_Kurosaki seems to have this incredible ability to knock all of his expectations to the ground, either by surpassing them or simply by avoiding the issue altogether, and he has never been able to figure out quite how the younger man does it._

_He watches the key drift forward, glowing a brilliant light blue color, and the outline of a door form in the air with similar colored light. It fills in as the key fits itself to where a handle normally would be - almost indistinguishable in the light from the door – and the light solidifies into a dark wooden door as it slowly swings open. The doorway glows white, and he feels the rush of power that the key is taking from Kurosaki slow to a trickle and then stop._

_Despite the absolutely_ _**massive** _ _amount of energy that had taken, he can't sense the slightest trace of exhaustion or fatigue in the younger man, nor does his reiatsu seem any weaker. It's astounding, even humbling, that this teenager, this_ _**boy** _ _, is capable of such an insane feat and doesn't even seem affected by it._

_Kurosaki's eyes flick open and the younger man gives a small gasp, eyes widening in surprise as they fall on the doorway. The younger man looks over, meets his gaze, and he feels Kurosaki's hand tighten reflexively where their fingers are still interlaced. He knows his mask is down, that his astonishment and the wonder he's feeling at Kurosaki's accomplishment is on display, but he can't seem to hide it at the moment. The younger man's reiatsu is still loose and relaxed around them, inviting – he'd call it coaxing, if he thought Kurosaki was actually controlling it – and warm as it slides around him and his own tightly controlled power. Kyouka Suigetsu makes a pleased sound in his mind, vibrating at his side and obviously basking in the impressive power._

_Maybe…_

_Shouts echo in his ears and Kurosaki's eyes jerk to the side as the younger man releases his hand, the reiatsu drawing sharply inwards and back under the teenager's control. He feels cold without it, and that combined with Kyouka Suigetsu's sharp hiss of irritation brings him crashing back down to reality._

_No._

_Kurosaki's power is impressive, but that is all. To think that the younger man is, or can be, anything to him but a useful tool to ascend to the throne with is ridiculous. Besides, he won't go down that road again if he can help it._

_He wipes the emotion from his face and looks over, making a quiet sound of amusement at the horde of shinigami clustered at the other side of Soukyoku hill._

" _I suppose we should go, shouldn't we, Kurosaki?"_

He takes in a sharp breath, hands coming forward to brace against the ground. Pain is bright in his chest, and he squeezes his eyes shut and grits his teeth to smother a groan of it. Watching Aizen get _that_ close to thinking of someone – especially him – as more than a tool and then being yanked away from it had, does, physically hurt.

He knows firsthand how amazingly shut off Aizen is from everyone else, and the thought of living so long without considering _anyone_ as a friend or even an ally is terrifying. No. He can't let this continue, he just _can't_. Somewhere along the line, Aizen became important to him, and the older man is _so_ close to thinking the same of him. If he can just push it that little bit forward, force Aizen to see him as a person…

Warmth rushes into him and he arches, eyes snapping open as pure, unbridled, _power_ fills him like he's an empty glass that someone's pouring water into. He can't summon the breath to cry out, but his hands curl to fists in reaction to the feeling of being so incredibly _charged_. It feels like static is crawling across his skin, like he could look down and see the energy and reiatsu leaping around him. It doesn't exactly hurt, but by the time the flow of energy ceases, he feels strained, like a single breath or another drop of power could expand him beyond what his body and his soul can take.

He moves carefully, his spine unbending as he lowers his head and brings his hands up, looking down at them. He actually _can_ see it. There are flickers of light blue and black energy winding around his hands and sparking from his skin like electricity, and as he stares the knowledge that it's temporary lights in his mind. He's overcharged, unused to the power, and that shows in the tiny bursts escaping him. As soon as his body acclimates this particular effect will stop.

Wait, how does he…?

Just like that, he is _aware_.

The room around them does not exist, it is simply a mental reconstruction that both his and Aizen's minds have created to fill the emptiness of the throne's testing ground. He could remove it if he wanted to and return them to reality, but there's no real need. As soon as the test is done, they will both be returned to where their physical bodies are, standing in the King's realm. The test will be done once Aizen passes, since he already has by accepting Aizen as he is and deciding – even subconsciously – that he trusts the older man.

He shivers and his eyes snap up as, in front of him, Aizen gives a humorless laugh. "I suppose I have been rejected, hm?" the older man says quietly, brown eyes full of cold steel, but not entirely concealing the sharp bitterness in them.

"No, it's not-" Aizen smoothly cuts him off.

"Please Kurosaki," Aizen says, a hint of reproach in his tone as the older man gets to his feet, "there's no need to sugarcoat things. You are quite literally leaking power from your pores, so don't attempt denial. You have been accepted to the role of King, and I have not. It's really that simple." He follows Aizen to standing, eyes wide, and the older man needlessly straightens the collar of his white overcoat. "I will of course stay on as an advisor, if you like, but I imagine it would not be a popular decision." The older man gives a rich chuckle.

"Out of curiosity, what of my past did you get to see?"

He swallows and raises a hand to rake through his hair. "Uh, when you met Shunsui as a kid, your graduation from the academy, the night with Urahara plus the visit to your father after, and then right before we came here when we opened the gateway."

Surprise flickers in Aizen's eyes at the last scene before the older man's face closes down into a mask that is unreadable even to him. "Is that right? It seemed there was a pattern going there before that last memory." Aizen's tone is guarded, just barely questioning.

"I think," he starts, pausing for a moment to figure out the correct way to phrase it, "that it was _almost_ a turning point, that's why it fits in."

There's a moment of silence where somehow Aizen's face closes off even more before the older man speaks, his voice flat. "How so?"

He winces at the tone. "For a second there, you started to consider I could be something beyond a tool to use to become the King. You almost decided to trust me."

Aizen's lips quirk in a tight smirk as the older man shakes his head slightly, brown eyes closing for a brief moment. "At this point, Kurosaki, I'm not even certain I am _capable_ of trust. Given that you've seen the important bits of my past, I imagine you understand why." Aizen chuckles, amusement rising in the older man's brown eyes. "You know, I've gone from being an Aizen to _the_ Aizen, and I'm not sure if that's an improvement or not."

Maybe it's his new powers as the King, or some sudden understanding, but the words leave him before he can even think about them. And as soon as he says them, he knows they're right.

"You're just _Aizen_ to me," he says softly, meeting Aizen's eyes squarely.

There's a sharp moment of silence where Aizen's eyes widen and the older man freezes for a moment. "Excuse me?" Aizen finally asks, disbelief ringing in his tone.

"You're just Aizen to me," he repeats, "You're not _an_ Aizen or _the_ Aizen, you're just Aizen." He shrugs, turning his eyes to the ground. "I didn't know your family until now, and I didn't know shit about you either, before the King dragged us into that tour. To me, you're just you. Maybe my perception of you as a person has changed pretty drastically over the course of this tour, but that doesn't change you being you."

He looks back up, meeting Aizen's gaze with a tiny smirk. "Come on, Aizen, you've been in my head too. At this point you _have_ to know how bad I am at lying, and _I_ know how good you are at reading people, so I know you'd be able to tell if I was bullshitting you."

Aizen watches him for several long seconds, disbelief openly in his eyes. "What's the point of telling me this now, Kurosaki? I have already been rejected as King."

He shakes his head, gesturing at the room around them. "If you had then we would have gone back to the throne room. It's not done yet. To pass you need to trust me and accept me as I am, which is _not_ as a tool thank you very much."

Aizen raises an eyebrow. "You trust me, Kurosaki?"

"Yeah," he answers easily, shrugging, "knowing _why_ you're an arrogant bastard made things easier, but I never would have gone through with all this if I didn't trust you at least a little, Aizen. My 'determination to protect' is pretty much what drives me, but it wouldn't have been enough to make me work with you if I didn't think you were decent under all the masks."

"Decent?" Aizen scoffs, eyes narrowing. "I've killed before, Kurosaki, without a thought or so much as a flicker of regret or guilt, and I _will_ do it again. You don't mind that, or all the less pleasant traits of mine you must have seen while being pulled through my past?"

He grits his teeth for a second, eyes narrowing. "There are things I don't _like_ about you, Aizen, but I can accept them. I wouldn't ask you to change, and that's only partially because I know you wouldn't even if I asked."

"Very true," Aizen says softly, a tiny smirk quirking the older man's lips, "it's good that you at least know me that well."

He answers the smirk before it fades under what he _knows_ he has to say. "I'm not going to be your adviser, Aizen, or your queen or whatever else you want to call it. We're going to be partners, you _know_ that's how it has to be for this to work," he pauses, fully aware that his next words are going to flip a few switches for Aizen, "you have to accept me as an equal."

In an instant Aizen is fully focused on him, jaw set and eyes narrowed. The older man's mouth opens and he quickly speaks, "Look, I'm not as experienced as you, or as skilled, and I'm definitely not as intelligent as you are, but I'm not an idiot either, and what I _can_ match you with is power. But more importantly…"

He swallows and ducks his head for a second, finding courage in the power he can feel thrumming in his veins and sparking off his skin. Even if Aizen _does_ get monumentally pissed at him for this, which is really likely, there's not much the older man can do to him with the powers of the King in his hands.

"I'm not Urahara," he says softly, meeting Aizen's eyes and watching the older man flinch slightly, "and I'm not your father either. I can't promise I won't ever betray you because you were right. If I had the right incentive, I would betray you, and so would anyone else. But what I _can_ promise is that if I ever do, you'll know why, and it'll be one _hell_ of a reason. Alright?"

Aizen studies him, face completely neutral, for what feels like forever. He endures it silently, with a tiny bit of squirming, before finally Aizen visibly relaxes and the older man's brown eyes warm.

"Yes, I suppose I can accept that, Kurosaki."

No sooner are the words out of Aizen's mouth then white light flares and the older man arches with a startled gasp. He has to shield his eyes as the white light streams towards and into Aizen, and his breath catches at the pure _power_ he can feel being poured into the older man. After a moment, he manages to lower his hand, squinting, as the last of the light disappears inside the older man. There are the same sparks of power jumping from Aizen's skin and circling the other man's hands, but Aizen's are pure white as opposed to his light blue and black.

As Aizen reopens his eyes and relaxes from the arch the world around them starts to dissolve, and he can feel the pull of the real world calling. Aizen meets his gaze, and there's an easy feel to the reiatsu escaping the older man. It's probably the most relaxed he's seen Aizen in all the universes, and he smiles in instinctive response.

"Ready?" he asks softly, and Aizen smirks in answer.

"Of course."

Just like that, they are back in the throne room, each with one hand stretched forward to touch the black stone. He slowly straightens up and lets his hand drop to his side. He can feel the power buzzing beneath his skin, and he knows instinctively that with a thought he could feel every inch of this room and change it how he wanted to, that he could manipulate the spirit particles that the spiritual realms are made of to his liking. That extends to the shinigami as well. He can feel the presence of the royal guard behind them, knows their ages and their powers, and exactly how strong each of them is without even having to think about it.

He looks over at Aizen and finds the older man regarding the throne with a slight frown. He barely has time to wonder what Aizen is thinking about before the older man is speaking.

"It looks uncomfortable," Aizen answers simply, looking over at him, "that's what I was thinking." Aizen pauses and the older man's eyes widen a little. "But you didn't ask, did you?" He shakes his head and Aizen gives a slight noise of interest, the older man's left hand rising to touch his own chest. "I guess we are connected more then we could have imagined."

As if Aizen mentioning it has brought it to his attention he can suddenly see the flow of reiatsu between them. No, more than reiatsu, it's actual spirit particles. It looks like nothing so much as dust particles in light, and there's a steady flow both from him to Aizen as well as the reverse.

"So what, we can hear each other's thoughts?"

 _I suppose._ He flinches a little at the voice, which is _clearly_ Aizen's, even though the older man's mouth hadn't moved. "We should probably speak with the royal guard," Aizen continues softly, a questioning tilt to one of the older man's eyebrows.

He nods and turns to look down the few raised steps to the main part of the throne room, and as Aizen turns with him, their hands brush and the air gives a tangible shiver. Before his eyes the world changes, a wave of power washing out from both of them and leaving a different room in its wake. The high white walls turn to darkly paneled wood, though the tapestries spread across them stay, and the entire room seems to shrink a little so it's less church-like. The dais they're standing on drops so it's only a single step up, and a rug pops into existence beneath their feet and covers the entire dais, dark red to match the one running down the center of the room.

The feel of his clothes changing around him makes him turn his eyes downwards and he gasps in surprise. The white clothes he'd borrowed from Aizen have turned into heavy – though they don't actually seem to weigh anything – black robes that are edged with shimmering gold, and, thank _god,_ he has shoes again. The sleeves fall most of the way down his hands, wide like his shinigami uniform, and the standard hakama remains, though it's black now. He glances over at Aizen, expecting the same, and his eyes widen at the sight that meets his eyes. Aizen's clothes are the same as his but dyed all in white – though there's the same gold trimming – and there's a thin golden circlet resting on the older man's brow with a black gem at the center of it. He knows without having to check that there's a similar circlet on his own head, and the knowledge brings a tiny smile to his lips.

 _We really did it._ Aizen looks over at him, smirking.

"That we did, Kurosaki."

"So what now?"

Aizen chuckles, leading the way towards where the royal guard is gathering at the end of the hall. "Isn't that part obvious, Kurosaki? Whatever we want."


End file.
